You reached out finger tracing

You reached out, finger tracing

where my shirt collar meets the neck—

a faded brown map

hidden beneath fabric's fold.

I blinked, surprised by the weight

of your eyes on a spot I’d never seen,

the odd shape, like a bruise

left by some past I’d forgotten.

It felt like borrowing

someone else's skin,

a quiet geography I’d worn blind,

and you were the first to read it.