this man knows
where his smile best belongs

wither go his eyes
behind mirrored glass
nearly expecting to see my own

reflected in miniature

hidden:
tailor made
ewe shorn short

this time werewolf
wears the suede,
her body as mask

me and my girl
arm in arm
we try not to compare
the missing that comes from holding
and being held, hands too full for picking up,
hands empty yet clenched

tight and
tighter

she always envied
carved circus figures
until she wished flesh into wood
and a pose that turned his
into the same

someone told her
she was wearing red paint


� 2004 by Jenifer VanBuren