When I left
You asked if I wanted one of your shirts.
You were surprised, I think
To hear: “No.”
(Louder than I meant, but I meant it.)

Are you that terrified by your ability to make a mark?
To leave me with only a memory?

When I left
We embraced and you winked at me
As if I knew
Exactly.
What you meant.
What you were thinking.
I didn’t—
And I still don’t.

It wasn’t a souvenir I wanted.