Love, a fleeting wisp of smoke,
Cigarette moments, a transient cloak.
Inhaled embraces, exhaled sighs,
A dance of shadows under transient skies.
Embers flicker, desires’ play,
A silent script in smoke’s ballet.
Cherished fragments, ephemeral art,
Love’s canvas painted, then torn apart.
Hold too tight, the burn’s soft glow,
Fingers marked by the ebb and flow.
A tale unfolds, whispers in the air,
Love and cigarettes, a nuanced affair.
Amidst petals and sweet intentions,
lies a tale of expected affection.
Don’t buy me flowers, for they bloom
into headaches, wilted gestures
of a scripted clichéd playbook, a tired routine.
Don’t follow the script of others,
don’t mimic their steps, their gestures,
trying to carve a niche within my heart.
Funny, how they think it’s smart,
yet each one mirrors the last,
a futile attempt to impress.
Instead, let’s linger on the sofa’s embrace,
indulging in a shared food coma,
watching shows until they fade to black,
embracing the artistry of everyday moments,
finding solace in simplicity.
Avoid the scripted endeavors,
for no bouquet can soothe a headache,
nor empty vases fill the void within.
Don’t, no, don’t buy me flowers,
just be present, unadorned, and real.
In silvered glass, a world’s reflection lies,
A mirror, an oracle of truth and guise.
A surface that holds both secrets and light,
Echoing tales of day and veiled night.
Its silvered face, an unyielding canvas,
Captures the essence, the soul’s nuances.
Reflecting visages, each face it meets,
Mirroring joys, and sorrows it greets.
Yet beyond mere glass and its reflecting sheen,
Lies a deeper metaphor, a narrative unseen.
For in life’s grand theater, we too play a part,
Reflections of the soul, a mirrored heart.
Sometimes it mimics, exact in replication,
Other times, distorts in playful aberration.
A mirror’s truth, a subtle, shifting guise,
Revealing layers beneath, where honesty lies.
With cracks that mar its once flawless view,
Each fracture echoes what time can accrue.
Scars on the surface, a story etched deep,
A mirror’s wisdom in the scars it keeps.
So, in life’s reflection, as we journey through,
Let’s grasp the truths a mirror may imbue.
For in its reflections, both clear and unclear,
We find the fragments that make us sincere.