Mirror Gazing
Indelibly marked upon the hands of time,
A mirrored wish;
She closed her eyes and thought of what might be,
And her breathless murmur echoed with a hoped for kiss,
While every word she whispered carried desires and memories.
It could have been the way he imposed his presence on the stage;
Between herself and the audience she felt a mnemonic blade;
It cut her off from outside intervention, couldn’t mention--
That she was impassioned by the quiet promise of a stranger.
And when he disappeared she thought she’d chase him with her
thoughts;
He was as fluid as music and as weightless as a sigh;
Her every attempt to catch him there, in her
mind's eye,
Seemed to result in nothing but more longing;
And all she could think of was his romantic eyes,
While the stage collapsed and the crowd dispersed, Distant and full of
thirst.
Seemed impossible that this wish would come true;
Closed her eyes and felt his lips touch her skin . . .
In the mirror where she watched she felt quite lost
in sin,
Trailing fingers found innocent places and she found
herself lose courage;
She felt shame, but then again,
felt all the better because such sighs as he might evoke from her were
notes of music,
And how could music be a sin?
And over time this mystery ripened like fine red wine:
More enigmatic and far more exotic over time,
Over ancient hills of hourglass quizzicality,
She found herself running, breathless,
And searching:
She would have chased him endlessly at the drop of a dime;
Oh!, If only she might catch him in just time!
And then--
Top hat with coattails and trousers, she saw him standing;
She thought this made it very like the Phantom of the Opera,
Only,
The more visible he was, the harder he was to find;
And he was hardly ugly, but most handsome and divine!
But alas!
She was the monster, Christine without the voice!
She could only follow and like others at his feet, rejoice;
And he never looked her way;
A star, was he, so far above;
She would have washed his feet but her hair wasn’t long enough.
By habit she sank into the shadows, lost among the heavily romantic
damask draperies;
By reflex she bowed her head to hide herself and closed her eyes,
dreaming;
And when she felt a whisper glide across her skin,
She looked up and tried to understand the facets of the dream that
she was in.
He took her by the shoulders and drew her to himself,
He murmured that he knew she watched him, and wondered why;
He told her that he thought perhaps she might have been some lost,
enchanting elf:
Secretly watching, always there;
Ah, yes, he whispered to her,
Undeniably, uncomprehendingly, always there.
Words were useless, her speech had gone;
But when he kissed her, it didn’t matter,
Life . . . went on!
And suddenly her fantasies were mirrored not in fine and chilly
glass,
But in real flesh and blood that determined itself to last.
He took her by the arm and swept her away from her self-imposed
suffering;
Drowned her in kisses and murmured heart-felt endearments,
Yes, he gave her even that!
All promises of incredible days, together . . .
And then,
She closed her eyes and reveled in the reality of her reciprocated
happiness . . .
For no longer was she to be lost in dreams and fantasies,
But in painful, magnificent reality--
And it was then that she found joy.
And for the rest of her joyous, contented life,
All empty, lonely mirrors . . .
Ceased to exist!
