Look in the mirror
and tell me
what you seem to see.
You see,
that girl in the mirror
staring back at me
customarily seems
to have the match
in her hand,
threatening to cease
what we perceive
as "me".
I could never tell you
about the match,
silently waiting
in her hand.

i am strong.
i am handsom.
i am smart.
i am caring.
i am perfect.

i am a lair.

Sanctified from sin.
Looking like a molting bird.
New feathers await.

my lover twirls grace and beauty
between her fingertips
her golden hair gleams like sunlight
and her breath flows like wind
i can liken her to flowers
but they hold no candle to her
she moves like a river
gentle, slow, and flowing
i understand now the desire
that Eve had that day in Eden
aching to feel the sweet nectar
flow down her chin and to her breast
wanting to taste what she never could have
and, God, did it feel good.

they last as the birds chirp in heavens bound
dangling wires thy reaching to touch
grasping thy reality you profound
massive outtake he has not yet done-
launch.