Sighted me from the mezzanine where they perch like judges,
They beckon me, one with her garish baubles and her
Wicked eye focused with such malice on mine.
Too late to feign, naught else to do but obey it seems.

Three sit there, each with fervid grins as if bid me tranquil
Instead of spurious shapes I see drawn.
Greetings called and suggestions made, I sit, obeying still.
Have they sat here, waiting for some unweary tramp to wander? I wonder.

Contrast is struck with me subdued and they incited.
Sharing glances, each dead-locked eye a secret message passes,
Like three old telepaths whom forget they stare so.
I pretend blindness, for what else can the interloper play?

The brazen one, she tempts to rouse me by spinning a stupid tale
Of this time or that, as if I could relate and might tell in turn.
I laugh aloud and the sound is fake so I doubt the three could miss.
But if they felt, they held a steady bluff.

So it goes, three con one, a battle of wits where wits of mine are none.
I drop my eyes to avoid their stares; let me think and maybe I can bear!
Whatever doubt and vague I felt prior is stressed to apex and beyond.
What wickedness wrought deserves me such misery?

I feel the exit over there; It pulls and speaks of rescue from this cadre.
Silence creeps, its fingers probing like the devil's hand sending
Panic at one more span that must be endured.
They wait with unspoken expectation that I ought not break.

A forth arrives to quell the void, he with his smiles and handsome
face and eyes that peer so steady wherest I sit.
Another, then, to join the game--or another to watch the dance and my
stumble.

But naught seats for five, I see with glee.
An opportunity arises and I clutch it before his hands might
Steal it back.
I spring and offer, with cordial certainty that he mustn't deny.

They--four now, a full troupe--share their secret stare.
I bid my goodbye, assured now with that the end is nigh.
The stair leading from the floor is like a drug, each
step a new relief gained thereby.

A tale of love and lust and loss is woven before me,
and each thread is an arrow that pierces my chest.
You relive the romance with your own regret,
But oblivious, I think, to mine own broken heart.

I feign a casual interest that befits my station,
Ever veiling the true depths of feeling I dream to express.
The facade is solid and impenetrable and unrelenting.
Never the swain; always the stranger.

Alone in my hollow I am tormented by the ugly jealousy in my soul,
As if I have a right to feel it.
What brute dare lay claim to the regards of passion?
I durst, and through doing so I am punished with this heavy heart.

It changed us; like a mimicry of natures leaves
Turned yellow and gold by Autumn.
But instead of foreshadowing futures bright Spring, we were left a
dank pit of which neither of us could fathom.

So ended a short infatuation of unrequited love.
The blame is mine to bear, for being such a beast
To ever imagine a lovers caress.
To ever imagine your caress.

I might, foolishly, pursue you further,
But I see now the truth:
We are different and far apart, the fantasy is cupidity.

But I love you still,
From afar,
And from apart.