I’d rather not know you looked,
rather not know what you found
when you found me there. Rather not have an algorithm
suggest how well we might work.
A glimpse I’d rather not have of our potential
or our difference, I’d rather
not know what you know. When I page
through my history I’d
rather not recollect what I’ve missed out on.
I’d rather not have here an archive
of everything the two of us have ever said.
I’d rather not miss the revealing,
the way the gloss of newness
sloughs away to show the parts I’d rather
remember later on. It’s easy enough
to shut it down, and I’d rather not leave a trace.