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An Apology for Not Doing Anything Wrong MAG
I'm sorry that memories of
youraffections
were
smeared
off my hand by
someoneelse's sweaty hand.
I didn't even see you until the echoes of my own voicehad
faded away.
Though I feel as if
your name
may stain meforever;
my palm has, as of late, become rather crowded.
And so I feel youwill become
blurred and hard to read,
Lost
amongnames of better handwriting and brighter colors,
Something that evenlate-night phone calls
and satin compliments
can't repair.
© Anonymous
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