In the Mirror

House of Heart

The love that we will never make is the most beautiful, most violent, the most pure, the most heady” Serge Gainsbourg

The woman in the mirror

weeps fire from the curve

of her eyes.

Liquid diamonds burn trails

down her cheeks.

Unfamiliar voices roll on ocean waves

from the pit of her soul

(is it possible?).

Icy crystals rain down from some godforsaken

chasm like the tender touch of heartbreak

that whispers come, rest.

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