Day 2: Mirror, Mirror
Veils. Fans. A mask.
The moon.
The stars.
A mirror to exoticism
only shows
Virtue her own feature,
Scorn her own image, and
the very age and body of the time
His form and pressure.
It takes pressure
to make a mirror—
to press silver into glass, into magic.
It takes hate, or love,
to change the form of one’s age and body
of any time
Mirror, mirror, on the wall…
Form it.
With pressure.
Drape it with a veil
spangled with stars
from another quadrosphere.
Mask it, but for the eyes
(windows, not mirrors).
Spin.
Stop.
I don’t like that my stanza breaks don’t show up here. I guess I’ll have to use punctuation to put something in between verses next time.