An old poem, but forever a favourite.
Look to the outside, look within,
The penciling trees, the straw of the sun,
Skin white as milk, cheeks turn to cherries,
The gaze falls deeper within.
No more shall this stranger taunt me,
Its eyes glistening with the deep bordeaux of blood,
In which moment the heart begins to bleed,
Consciousness lost in the reflection of another.
Its palms gently caress its cheeks,
Mirroring my every move, my every breath,
A sheeny droplet passes down its complexion,
Yet I feel the sadness bound in my heart.
And still it stares, trapped before me,
Hands gripping the nearby porcelain vase,
Eyes lustrous, almost mad,
It sends the delicate prop against the cold surface.
Crimson, scarlet streams descend gently,
It still stares – bewildered and dazed,
Both our hands seen only through thick brooks of ruby,
And a smile appears.
The soul within remains unchanged,
Our gaze saunters and with a final glance of approval,
I turn and gait forth, sensing no more the bothering embodiment.