His red shirt lingered on him
Drawn across his back, casual as he liked
In a sense his dark jeans and red shoes,
Gently tossed his image to my eyes
Where he lay in my imagination, etched into a rhythm that stayed still
Peaked features pointed in all directions, ears
Perked to listen, eyes
Sharp and facing anywhere but me, face
It, his hair seemed to say, we're not meant for each other
With a casual wave of a parting

But I kept staring, though my attention almost slipped
And I regretted it, though not the tale he threatened to tell,
But the sense he could have said more
Never moving from his corner
With red drawn about him,
Like a poisonous warning to all
Who might see more
Led me to such feeling.
No more.