“You're proud of them, the thin red lines tracing down your neck, chest, the back of your hand. You show them off like medals, scars gotten from the thick of battle. I don't realize how I stare until you pull your collar back up, turn away to show someone else. Now when I close my eyes, those scarlet lines are all I see. How she claws at you like a cat. Draws battlefields on your skin. Draws blood. It is a taking over. A claiming. What do I have of you but little pieces of your laughter, a word, a glance, a touch on the back of my neck? All fit easily away, folded up like a secret note, a grenade under the tongue. Her name is gunpowder in my mouth. ”