Through the Looking Glass

August 25, 2007

It must be funny
when you walk into this world
of opposite intentions

Your left; my right

You left.

I simply dissolved 
into a lathering thought
coughed up from the esophagus 
of the drain for a moment
and was gone

Your right; my left

I left

Hot air rises
exhaust fan revolves
while the mirror collects condensation
that blurred our faces
with watering eyes
you smiled; I cried

I cried

nakedly, you glared 
at my shivering bosoms.
The water is hot,
yet the body

so cold

You reached for a white towel for cover.
I felt nothing
of the softness, or the scent 
of a freshly pressed cloth,
except the tag attached
to my right toe (your left)

You left

only a number that enunciates
our existence
as we met through the looking glass.

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