Reflect.

Honestly, tell me your name.
I can’t read it in the window.
The late afternoon sun
is too bright,
which makes it hard for me to understand
the meaning of the five glass beads hanging
from your neck.
(Did your mother give those to you?
I wish she had kept them to herself.)

I am trying really hard to comprehend
the complexity of the colors in your reflexes.
You seem to be cooped up in a flat world, so flat, you
don’t even know the difference
between real life and mirrors.

I am having trouble finding my way into your bedroom.
I need to know your name.



~*~*~
written in sept of 07