It’s easy to pick you apart like dinner
leftovers on a gloomy Saturday night
spent at home--to look at you and think
mean things.
To wonder how related we really are.
Did our stars cross paths and choose to
stay together somewhere in the solar system,
a sort of luck or misfortune we’re stuck with
forever?
Perhaps it is easier to find the faults in others
when the glass that we look through isn’t
really transparent at all, when the glass is no
more than the mirror that hangs above
the bathroom sink.
leftovers on a gloomy Saturday night
spent at home--to look at you and think
mean things.
To wonder how related we really are.
Did our stars cross paths and choose to
stay together somewhere in the solar system,
a sort of luck or misfortune we’re stuck with
forever?
Perhaps it is easier to find the faults in others
when the glass that we look through isn’t
really transparent at all, when the glass is no
more than the mirror that hangs above
the bathroom sink.
