broken mirror, black water,

crumpled desire in its narrow box

of guilt and other treasured trash

that you cannot part with;

music composed in haste, 

with a taste of “as it had never been” 

it’s two o’clock:

new words on her lips taste like honey;

there’s only one direction to go,

he laughs, staring at his face

in the night’s mirror:

the reflection is a hollow skull.