Mag 302

mirror 3

Your eyes are impassible

a bridge over which

my infinite nothings pass.

The oil in your veins

ignites within my hesitations.

However I turn it, it is always

your back facing.

We are the same you and I,

a collusion of venom and wine.

Do not undertake me lightly.

Hold the mirror higher

let it extract within your depths

my approximations.

The moon languishes behind

a flimsy bandage, a blister

against our perfect blackness.

Flat and nostalgic

I detest you pretty girl.