Don’t come close

her achromatic words

ring

in the distilled air.

She raises her head to take him all in.

The man’s face falls, and his cheeks flame

as though she has slapped him,

a glint glosses over his eyes,

and she realizes

he’s going to cry.

He retracts, his fingers curl in and drop to his sides

—fingers that had contused her skin

knubby, with big, bruised knuckles

fingertips hardened and widened around the calloused area.

His smile droops

the lines around his eyes droop.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I’ve forgotten. You don’t know who am I.”

Something in her chest tightens.