The Fountain of Truth
have you ever sat,
upon a fountain’s edge,
and stared beyond the spray,
the gleaming copper on ceramic,
and seen somebody in the pool?
did you question
who it was;
if it was someone you knew
or only
someone you wished to become?
did you trace the surface,
watch the ripples follow
your fingertip across their neck,
and slice their appearance in two?
did you prod your damp fingers
at the flesh on your cheeks,
pull and push and pull,
until you contorted their image
to your liking?
at the flesh on your cheeks,
pull and push and pull,
until you contorted their image
to your liking?
did they check the strands of hair,
hanging like vines behind your ears,
and fret over
the flecks of gold in your eyes,
or the roses on your cheeks?
did they lean their face close,
till your insecure nose
pressed the surface,
lips drunk on vanity,
and forget?
have you ever sat,
upon a fountain’s edge,
and seen your reflection?
hanging like vines behind your ears,
and fret over
the flecks of gold in your eyes,
or the roses on your cheeks?
did they lean their face close,
till your insecure nose
pressed the surface,
lips drunk on vanity,
and forget?
have you ever sat,
upon a fountain’s edge,
and seen your reflection?