Breath.
Breath on a mirror.
The writing with a finger
I love you in the steamed
up space. He rubs it off
with the edge of his hand.
If only she could wipe him
from her heart with as much
ease as he had wiped away
her words of love with brush
of hand from mirror's face.
He gazes at his reflection
and with a finger wets a brow.
She looks on hoping he will love
Her too, sometime, somehow.
poem by Terry Collett
Added by Poetry Lover
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