Unintended Innuendo

We spoke in semaphore of smirks, A dialect of sideways quirks— Our mouths full up with mirage and pun, Unconscious artists come undone. She, a flower in a field of noise, Parsed our pose as preening boys— Not cruel, but tuned to frequencies That echo long through apologies. Our verbs wore vests too tight with charm, Syntax stitched with latent harm. We hadn’t meant to start a war— Yet metaphors, once launched, implore. Intent becomes the alibi Of those who never learned to pry Beneath the comfort of a jest— A laugh can undress all the rest. She read our pause, our sideways glance, Not as a walk, but a strange dance In which the lead was vague, and yet Each footstep left a silhouette.