You held me in the palm of your hand.
Handily, you palmed the surface of my shivering soul.
Soullessly, you divined its flaws, plotting, preparing.
Preparedness would have helped but who can prepare for love?
Love in all its hormonal glory rising, raising the hopes of the hopeless.
Hope, the dandelion seed in the hot wind of pent-up desire,
desirous of only you, the scent of you, the touch of you,
you who held me trapped in reflection reversed,
reversing right from wrong, within the crystal orb.
Orb of eye, orbiting, endlessly trapped upon the glassine surface,
surfacing only long enough to breathe, fogging the image held.
Held with the controlling hand with its tattered remnants of life,
lifelines committing crosshatched-mutiny upon your thin white skin.
Skinned by your gaze, I retreat deeper into the silvered glass.
Glass over my weary heart, encase it eternally, I cannot run.
Running is not an option for those condemned to love so.
So, round I race within reflection, thought and mind
mindless, chaste and chasing a siren dazed.
Dazed within the image of your crystal ball, I lie.
Lie to me and tell me…I’m the apple of your eye.