This bruised shadow of a promise…

This bruised shadow

                                        of a promise.

I made it.           It was meant

          for her. The woman

without a face. Right

                         before I left.

Years later, things

                                        lost

their taste.           Bruises

          come and go.

They change

                    colors. So

          do promises. They are

spoken. Some

          languish

                    and sigh

                              and fade away.

Others eat

          everything in sight

until nothing’s left,

                              except.

That mouth

          of a thousand

teeth.           A promise

          made to someone

whose face

          I’ve forgotten.