Mirror

When a preacher searches for God’s wisdom,
He looks in the mirror and sees prayers forming
On the lips of his reflection.
Calling to me was your mouth,
Releasing a never-ending stream of thought,
One consciousness to another as we spoke through the glass.
I’ll never forget the promise of a kiss, barely even expressed,
Into which I read like devout women scour over gilded texts.

I knew I had found Him,
My match, or some other being on Earth in you,
One with Eve’s small smile
And an innocent taste for ripe fruit.