Who I loved really loved looked at me
wanted notes in exchange for the looks.
They noticed my sideways appearances in
Homeric similes like stars so far off you
can only see them on the edges of your eyes
and you have to be in a very bad mood sad
or angry with yourself because you’d broken
all the promises to Them you really loved.
They looked and worried in time to jazz to
classic R&B and defined as second-rate breath-
less tunes I’d just invent and start with
an airhorn blasting them into the dreamy sky.
Who I loved at last loved looked at me from
homilies and circles and confidential asides.