in the hall of mirrors: eight

I will find you in the hall of mirrors:

that curious way you'd tilt your head
just before saying the most unspeakably lovely things
that you wanted to do with me tonight.

the diligence with which you'd make sure
I'd see you, fresh from the shower, pure
and aching to be reminded of how beautiful you are.

the way you'd furrow your brow in consternation
when I was too mindful of who might hear or see
and not mindful enough of what you wanted now, dammit.

you are there, in the hall of mirrors,
trapped by the light of every day and night
when we were in one another's spheres and dreamed forever.


William F. DeVault. all rights reserved.