marks: replacement and renewal
Luke noticed the way Reggie was always littered with marks
How fresh bruises always seemed to find their way to the mountains of his ribcage or the plains of his shoulder
Even as he tried to conceal them behind layers of flannel and leather
Hiding his face from those who were keen enough to notice anyway
Luke’s heart burned with anger as he thought of Reggie’s parents
Knowing they were the ones imprinting his friend’s skin with purple, green, and red
How could they hurt their own child so
How could they bear to strike him when he was so kind and good and a million other positive adjectives scattered across the floor of Luke’s brain?
Luke wished to leave marks of his own too
Replacing the fading contusions of hate with blooming bruises of love
He wondered how his mouth would mould to Reggie’s skin
How he would taste and what he would sound like underneath Luke’s tongue and fingertips
Maybe he could change the meaning of blotched skin with just a little more time
Luke noticed the invisible marks as well
How Reggie built a protective shell around his soul with his dorky persona
How he gave and never took
How he shook with silent sobs in the pitch black of the studio
How he was never convinced that he was loved
Luke wished to mend those marks too, he wished to sew the jagged rips in Reggie’s heart shut with a thread of letters, strung together into a song.
He wished to sooth the scrapes on his soul with a salve of a tender touch, affection flowing into his fingerprints
He wished to love his boy until the contusions on his countenance faded away into the lights of the stage and the thump of the bass and the strum of the guitar, until Reggie was whole again.
He could only hope that the marks of Reggie’s parents would be temporary, and that his would be permanent, forever captured in the Polaroid photos in their wallets and the space between their lips as they sang and the knowledge that they would always have one another, no matter what.