An Apology for Not Doing Anything Wrong

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.