The Mirror in the Room

She was flawed, I could not deny that
and yet the moment
she gazed at me I would forget everything else
I, the mirror in the room
simple and elegant, am unbiased
as the books
placed on top of me wonder when the hour
would come
when she would reach the last page.

In the darkness of twilight, I am an abyss
the dark cherry fine wood
moist with naivety of her dreams,
her eyes weaving reality and array of possibilities
the pillow
slightly wrinkled is the playmate of exhaustion
she leaves no poems beneath him, only the cadence
of quietude,
I know for a fact that she wants to live them, feel them
and taste them.

I, the mirror in the room, am her only confidant
the bed,
may be the perfect companion equipped with sheets
but like the birds
she only sleeps until dawn
in the dresser
there lie but few accessories, a hairbrush, lip gloss
post its
and a bottle of lavender lotion,
in the end
it is I to whom she turns, who tells only the truth
the room might hold her weight
but like a tireless lover I hold her heart.


Photo credits: Jonathan Willis, Unsplash

Posted for Poems in April @ Real Toads

Posted on Open Link Night @ dVerse Pub