Two-Way Mirror
Then:
You called me Calliope
And heard with your lips.
Your hands
touched circus epics
until clowns tap danced
across the bridge
of your nose
in five seconds flat
and your quiet laugh
shattered crystal lies.
Now:
You smile through windows
as your eyes film
moon craters,
wait for volcanic lava
to harden
to petrify
before the steamy words
form droplets
on the glass
I cannot break.
Copyright 2007 by the Tipton Poetry Journal.
All rights remain the exclusive property of the individual poet and may not be used without their permission.