A faint outline.
A tense swell beneath the smooth fall of fabric.

Under that carelessly pressed blouse
I saw
I saw
I saw what I saw,
what can only be,
must be,

A knife handle?

You saw a smile I tell myself.
You saw a smile,
A smile,
A smile.

I concentrated, made myself see only
the hard upturned press of lips,
not the curved handle of
a knife.