The truth on my lips turned to vapor, I
turned the mirror away. I did not want
to see my breath. Did not want
your eyes turned flat with:
denial-distance-disgust.
With the mirror turned back, I
can pretend at belief. I did want:
your hands, your mouth, your mind. Could
pretend in happy endings.
There are none here. The mirror
has shattered. The truth floats
like oil on water
like scum on a pond
on your eyes like distance
on your hands like guilt.