Mirrors, her eyes reflected not my heart,
Which twitched and turned and bounced,
And skittered across the tension of their polished gaze.
Elasticity, opaque, a thousand yard stare
With reasons strung to match;
Sentimentality skittered away and drifted, inexorably
To the center of her webbed intent,
She would not have it so, but wished herself elsewhere,
And I, a little sustenance along the way.
© Greg Richards