Miscues
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Miscues
His glance was so capricious,
a transitory gesture that was suspicious,
a curious look that would dissipate.
To his direction I wanted to gravitate,
but that would flatter him too much.
To alienate a distinct man as such,
was a malignant move for myself.
Then he was looking again, so I blushed.
He crumpled his napkin and loudly belched,
leaving in an inurbane angry rush.
My interest had been ridiculous.
His lack of it was perspicuous.
My face had been his scapegoat,
for some woman who was squeezing his throat.
9/9/16
Flirt
Lewis Raynes
Copyright © Janis Thompson | Year Posted 2016
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