Why is it your blue shirt which I remember
That Thursday after school one cool September?
I clasped my coffee cup of styrofoam
And wondered if I should be gong home
And never heard a word you told me. – Why?
Because I thought your shirt was like the sky
At twilight, like the night sky in your eyes
Right after reading newspapers alone.
Your eyes had more stars than they'd ever shown.
It was my eyes that touched you, not my lips;
Your blue shirt never at my fingertips.