Trouble

Trouble is stirring in the air tonight.
My eyes are open and my thoughts are bright.
Minx is I to whom he refers.
"Photo's" he says; it's what he prefers.
I ponder the impulse; for I to should have a place to circumscribe.
"Do you hear that?" he asks, and then uses psychology to bribe.
Oh no, what have I done? Have I gone to far, pass that place of which I should shun?
"Have fun" he says, as I try to relax.
But my words are less than that of my acts.
I guess I heard it because we parted away;
hesitant to return on another day.