Ode to Boy
MOYET
When he moves
I watch him from behind
He turns and laughter
Flickers in his eyes
Intent and direct when he speaks
I watch his lips
When he drives
I love to watch his hands
White and smooth
Almost feminine
Almost American
I have to watch him
In his face
Age descends on youth
Exaggeration on the truth
He caught me looking then
But soon his eyes forgot
And everything he seems to do
Reflects just another
Shade of blue
I saw her searching into you
And ached a while
I watch his lips
Caress the glass
His fingers stroke
The stem and pass
To lift a cigarette at last
He dries his eyes
From a shadow by the stair
I watch as he weeps unaware
That I'm in awe of his despair
