He came to my house
And laid his beautiful blue shirt on the floor.
He had blue eyes.
He was tall. Don’t embarrass me.
I’m not going to say anymore.
I don’t remember what was said.
During his embarrassing stay
There was perfect music once—
A violin on a hill—
At midnight in my bed.
I think I teased him
By mentioning other men.
That was a good strategy,
More than sufficient
To confuse his poetry.