people watch themselves, eye to eye, in the mirror
so ******* afraid, if they turn away,
that they will put the knife down their own spine:
‘it is your fault my heart is dying’
they would say,
‘it is all your fault I am so alone’

so, everyone neglects their profile,
their victorian shade decays,
so, all humans now are, in silhouette,
as hideous as their engorged sense of vanity.
such is the nature of our society, narcissique.

but you, damp heart,
where the rain falls and makes
sweet sap, under that arterial lacework,
your side, lit by heaving sun,
took all that beauty and bound it
under and over your skin,
cheek palette like slow fire,
eyelashes like aching needles,

you keep stealing,
in all those moments between,
stealing me.