I still have that stupid flyer you gave me.
I should throw it out.
You came to my door
At 1 am
And tossed it at me,
Blushing,
And disappeared down the hall,
Stealing the brightness of the fluorescent lights
So that when you turned the corner
The whole hallway
Dropped in saturation
A few shades.

I still have it.
I found it in my bag the other day.
That's a lie.
I know where it is in my bag.
It has its own pocket.

When I closed the door and unfolded it
I saw you'd written on the top,
As if you were going to just slide it under my door and go
But changed your mind last minute.
You wrote my name.
You knew how to spell it.
Nobody knows how to spell it.

That poetry slam happened a month ago.
I went to it.
I don't need to know the time and date anymore.

I should throw it out.
I should at least put it in a drawer or something
Instead of having it with me.
I like to pretend
It's there by accident
(Even to myself.)
(Like, "Oh wow, look at this paper,
I was meaning to throw that out
Ages ago.
I forgot it was even here!"
Lie.
As if I don't know full well
That I leave it there intentionally.)

You signed your note:
-Tm
As if I would have no idea
Who gave me this flyer,
As if I wouldn't stupidly treasure it
Because you ripped it off the wall
Just for me.

I should throw it out.
(I won't.)