Against my mind,
these thoughts do bind:
Pairs of eyes, so
willing to despise.
A fleeting glare, could
push me to despair.
Pain, nay pleasure, it be-
to those eyes judging me.
Care not, I will, of such thought,
for it would make my being hot.
A bubbling sort of confusion
runs its course through such illusion.
A body here, a body yonder,
each one paused in place, to ponder.
Shifting through them in this maze,
my mind is freed from doubtful haze.