Tonight, in the mirror’s clutch,
she is a curve caught up
in bearing something of his,
a lightness weighted only
by the essence of her reflection
in what so soon must be.
In the mirror, she
is pure as a glimpse of
maturity spilt
from the soft slip of a girl,
and there is no hiding more,
the skirl of what he
already knows:
that a measure of loss
grows warmly within her pleasure,
an unborn need for touch
the mirror’s catch tonight most
certainly foreshadows--
But still he glows,
where otherwise his heart
might long to fade;
he glows,
being wildly caught up
in thoughts of
twice her breath to treasure ...