Mirror
In the bedroom mirror
I can still see you
curled in your blanket,
first rays of morning
shining on your cheeks
lingering sleep in your eyes
our wrinkled bed-sheet
the sound of you
whispering, pouring your
heart in my ears
your face when you came
late, drunk, cranky
our fights, you holding
my hand, deep in your sleep
Your fingerprints
are still visible, from
the times of passion
and despair alike.
The living room mirror
still has your image
Lying on the couch,
laughing, crying, dancing
with the characters of
your favorite movies,
and I sleeping off,
on your lap.
Watering OjOrey, Areca
Sansevieria, that you
so lovingly brought home.
The sound of you
reading poetry to me.
The late-night pizzas
stains of wine on your shirt.
On the chair dusting books.
All the wisdom,
in your arguments.
Mirror in our bath
still has you, bare
your scars so evident
I can still feel them,
with my fingertips.
Ink on your thighs
So vibrantly visible
Your tears, rolling
down your cheeks
drying on your skin
the silent cries
laced with the sound
of water falling
down the shower
dying on the walls
songs of your humming
soap bubbles flying
you wrapped in a towel.
The mirrors aren’t
letting you go.
So every time I
put up a mask, stand-up
to see me, through
the hues of my eyes
all that is there
are your traces
your colours and smell
I try to put
a new mask every day
a new pair of glasses
so I could somehow
see something that
isn’t you, something
more like me. But
all these masks do is
make me more like you.
……
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