I've seen your face in both mirrors and smoke,
and though it may have been a deception
it was intriguing, nonetheless:
that devious smile, so matching your laughter,
ringing about the corners of my mind,
though I've never quite met with your eyes;
you always manage to glance away,
as if the impossible wasn't mystery enough.
you whisper you're not ready yet,
that your eyes don't yet befit your splendor;
that you're building yourself from the smile up,
making sure every feature will taunt me.





Caught me before I'd edited it.



7 old applause
