The cold never seems to bother you,
my dreams now infected
with your scent
though your growing distance
should have turned that rancid.
Every word I speak, the way I stand
becoming…something;
a lover with something of the mother
behind glass like the first, the virgin.
Spinster secrets perhaps? But not with me.
I found out you weep secret tears,
might suffer hidden anxieties
when you looked across the chasm
and said it was a mirror.
If you have something to prove  
then return the favour.
Let me believe in you.
I could.
I do.