She looks at me, peering, jeering
hoping she will just get me down.
She picks at my teeth, concealing the beef
sandwich I had across town.
In my hearts of hearts I know I must love her,
give her attention, sometimes give her cover.
Plucking my eyebrows, my flaws she'll erase,
she brushes my teeth and washes my face.
Sometimes I'll have a smoke with her there,
upon the counter I sit...she'll continue to stare.
Watching the smoke circle and rise to the right,
I peer closer examining her slight overbite.
I'm afraid to say it now, for I feel I will smother...
But someday I'll tell her just how much I love her.
Comments
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Better to love than a game of self hate. You catch the way we never stop playing with the image we see, never quit analyzing what it all means. Clever and insightful.
Love,
Tom B.
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