I nail a dusty mirror to the brick
above the trash and hope you see debris.
Your set of flawless black silk lashes tick
with a glassy stare that drills. And ices me.
And the rug in the hall is stained and painted black
with caked dirt, coffee, and gum and oil
from miles of shoes and years alone past.
Now: cast iron glares. Inside we boil.
Your steel toes kick. Gasoline and ink-
stained sleeves reach into my whispered waist.
I spin away. I let my shower think.
You step inside; let snowy soap erase
and replace with your kiss of cinnamon sentiments.
immersed in the billowing silvery steam, we repent.
