She stared back.
He closed his eyes. He opened his eyes.
She was there, then she was not,
or a dream
of what he could be
and what he was not.
He wet his lips,
hoping to see a shade of lipstick red.
She shimmered in and out,
her illusive face, leaping through and fro
his cheekbones, his jawline, his eyes.
The only place she avoided, his neck,
bulged out, like a forbidden fruit,
hanging promisingly from the trees of paradise
goading you to rip it from its branches.
There she was again, now in full plain view,
but only for a moment.
She closed her eyes,
he opened his eyes,
losing her face in the mirror,
seeing himself again.