I woke, eyes blurry, as you packed your bag
the morning after I pushed my hand into your jeans
under flashing lights, after I made you shiver without
anyone else noticing. I hid your thin blue shirt,
hems unraveled with wear, under the blankets.
I never wanted you to stay, but I needed something
that would remind me you were here. If you return
on a rainy night, I will dress you in it again.