The Stain On My Forehead

only highly immunized girls make love anyway not those like me always stamped with spit on their forehead to be protected from evil eyes among other children after years I rubbed the memory of that stain with tender lemon leaves to wipe off that mellow scent and the bored kiss of a man right in the middle of my forehead as if he understood that I stopped liking to wear red clothes I had both hands in my pockets without knowing what to do because of cold and shame anyway it will pass after the wind blows over it doesn’t hurt