For A Selfie-Taker.
Never the form, at first: the physicality
Pressed against itself, the tendons tense
From glorious exposure; but the lips.
That is the first reflection to be felt.
Not a smile, snarl, or smirk is seen thereon,
No sneer or kindness: but perhaps, a secret
Pursed upon decision, playful silence,
And his reticence. Hidden like this,
Unspoken name, or the first word he breathed –
Those lips know something some would die to guess.
So through this lens of a distant, subtle screen,
In a handheld onyx mirror, an impossible kiss:
Feign to kiss this mirror, for me – please.