1-9 Playboy

not every mirror
is

made of glass,
sometimes the pink
of our perfection,
combs a silver crown
through our hair,
twirl layers of puff
at our ankles,
tightens the bodice,
with our shallow breaths,
while hiding our naked feet,
under the hem of our conversation,

but what do I see?

what do I see,
when I look at him,
in my pink decision,
uncertainty, glittering,
on my lips,
when I look at him,

assembling,
his glass slippers,
with scotch tape,
remarking,
how beautiful he will be,
in his glass slippers,
how beautiful,

what do I see,
what do I say?

not every mirror,
is made,
of glass.