Two men reflected do I see,
One in there--
the other in me.
Wrinkled, darkened, pale, shabby,
lips, hips, fingertips all flabby.
Skin a sour, hair a moist,
with kinked and crackled eyes and voice.
This, I may be outwardly--
But only in mirror man
this be.
The question is:
If I have him so
trapped and cornered,
And slow he stares,
vacantly,
What, of me, sees he?









