Prufrock
Softly confused
She hinted to me
Like a rumor.
I imagined the kiss
Of a complicated lover
But instead spoke delicately
About Saturn’s 62 moons.
Later on a bus
I thought that tomorrow,
In a desiccated morning,
I would try to write
Fourteen lines of poetry.
Boy did you paint a picture with this, you gave me a laugh. But I do know what it’s like when two people are having two different conversations.