In the mirror world, as he peeked, they are there and coquettish winking - a few wrinkles thin - lines of adventure novel, invariably to the left, under the eyelid, after the last lash, on a summer day, in a snowstorm - they are just there. They must cover up underneath her fine lace a few fiery sins, a small handful of joy quiet, three dreams, to oblivion long ago, from love gone - two fiery strokes. I forgive every morning their silent betrayal and I go into the world mirrored on his fingers, very fearlessly. I'll try from tomorrow to be friends! I even think, that I am incomprehensibly beautiful with them.
