Tell Me
Turned away, my lover murmured,
I actually think that others often see us more clearly than we see ourselves.
Into her neck I agreed.
How can any of us do otherwise?
A story is a re-telling, every word a reflection
of something other. Little good it did Narcissus
to stare and stare. And stare.
My lifetime, I wonder, and have wondered
how it shall end. Holding I am lovely!
to a mirror.
!ylevol ma I
Better that someone else should see this.
And tell me.
© Ciprianowords Inc. 2008
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