Fourteen Lines

I don't know
 whether she's like a doe or a fox
  (tension in every step,
   fiery hair spilling from her head like
   fingers running over her neck, her shoulders,
   something beating in her eyes)
 when she turns to look at me.

Please, please,
 don't make promises with your animal eyes
  (as you look over your shoulder
   once,     and once again
   to tug the strings that weave through my chest,
   to reap affection from my gaze)
 that your lips will never keep.