The stars in your eyes, staring like the sky
into my glass and mercury - through steam to defy
the blurred edges of lies and memories.
“I didn’t grow up into who I wanted to be,”
you finally told me
in the mysteries of our reflections.
I’m your mirror,
and so I’m a little like you.
The same smile and gentle hands,
the same eyes.
The same thoughts, too, perchance.
For when I was born, glass fitted against mercury,
I dreamed to make you smile at your beauty
(guess I was never good enough for that).
When you comb your hair,
long as a homebound road,
when you patch on make-up
the way snow falls in the sun,
your eyes - thick and heavy -
would glisten
a little from stars,
a little from tears.
They whisper their beauty,
like rainclouds and their rainbows.
