contemplativeMirror's Face
The mirror is now my world
echoing bottles in neat rows
mercenaries ready to deploy
to revelry or pain's quick balm
the former belongs to the past
clinking glass with merriment
as smiles flowed with alcohol
longing wreathed high by smoke
tinge of cig and spill of beer
clothes hard marked by happiness
no longer fit for company
they're only worn for the crowd
it didn't matter in the car
the smell of want filled the air
desire's fragrance in a small space
not meant for passions' quest
finding room to move at will
in order to fill the void
felt in the body thrusting forth
against the rub of steering wheel
another mirror reflected this
not the one above my head
instead the one in the past
saw sweet passion now long dead
coupling was our only sin
taken where the paths did cross
the bar, the car, only that realm
was ours to have, nowhere else
I say that with a twinge of guilt
knowing lies when they are spoke
giving comfort to all involved
veracity I'll not behold
it matters not, that memory
with so many more accompanying
the past deserting present time
with me alone here on this stool
the last song plays in the room
asking for us to consume
the quick balm, I wish it were
I toast the past in mirror's face.
© 2017, Sean Green. All Rights Reserved. 20170127.
