That night it was terribly crowded,
And through the cigarette smoke,
I had a feeling someone was watching me,
that I was someone's mark.
There he was, sitting,
confident in himself and his place,
that kind of look (under those eyebrows)
one does not see often.
Out of curiosity, I paused
and my mind was blown,
like I never had it,
like a bad marriage.
I do not remember what happened next,
nor who was playing,
but without a warrant he was searching my body.
Since then I am crazy about him,
crazy about that lupine look.
I no longer see anyone,
not even myself.
But I will get over you,
with a glass of sorrow in my hands,
in the company of people I don't even know.
I will get over you,
firmly, on my own two feet,
but never over that look.
I never saw him again,
let alone -- often.
But like an aura, in that pub,
there's a spotlight in the place
from where he targeted me.
With that look, so secure, so easily
he targeted and even more easily - wounded.
But I will get over you,
with a glass of sorrow in my hands,
in the company of people I don't even know.
I will get over you,
firmly, on my own two feet,
but never over that look.