with you in front of the mirror,
you pointing the finger at your washed, perfumed reflection,
with you catching yourself half-jokingly humming
at least i’m still fuckable, lovable material,
this is how an out of the norm day makes its appearance,
how a good day usually begins,
with a tiny but timely omission (almost wrote remission)
& not with an admission of guilt,
not with a discovery or some sort of age-old revelation,
after you’ve shaved, brushed teeth, washed away your dreams
& god only knows what other bodily secretions,
this is how fog flourishes in the mirror,
in the morning,
how the agreeable generally sneaks up on you
c. a. campos, 2012
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