Reflections;  the mirrored keeper
of our past deeds, some of which
we yearn to repeat forever
some we hope to forget
* ' * ' *
The descriptive memories
of tenderness that's recalled
afterwards, by a smile, a scent,
a softly spoken word,
a gentle touch, soft laughter
a carelessly written note,
and suddenly, nights of
passion are revisited!
* ' * ' *
Only to awaken to the
cold reality of lonliness,
to shattered reflections
of tender love and passion
* ' * ' *
The mind refuses to except,
fantasy impedes as comfort
a tiny trinket to grasp
at sanity's merciful form
* ' * ' *
Agonizing on why and what
was real and warm and flesh
what was fantasy and only
a desire to love and be loved
* ' * ' *
And yet, reflections can be kind
painting pictures of who we are
so that we may have a chance
to become who we choose to be