May 20, 2008
By Sanya Semakula, London, ZZ

The mirror reflects her faithfully
Its skinny silvered skin
Painting perfect portraits of her porcelain hue with ease.
My eyes patiently stroke its flesh
Trying to search behind her glassed features.
This all seeing little god
Unable to guide me beyond the pale reflection
That stares obediently as though in worship
On our journey in this metallic horse.

Once when I was drunk on courage
And my heart could dare
I turned to stare- to paint my own portrait.
The wrinkled lines kissing her eyes
Whispered of a lingering laugh she used to wear.
Her pasty complexion spoke of breathing complexities.
Feeling my truculent stare press into her
She turned so our souls meet
My spirit begged to embrace
So I could invade
The space loneliness has ordained
But only if she wanted

Defiling the begging petition
Radiating from the windows of my soul
My placid enchantress slipped back
Into her muted adoration of the silvered god.

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