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Don’t recoil from me. Or I will recoil back.

Don’t purse your roses at me

and squelch through them questions of youth and fairness,

Because every word is a seed you plant in my head,

and I will fire-bloom with the flowers of Venus

and swallow the gossamer answers

that you so carefully wound and frisbeed into my unbending surface.

Don’t lament my aloofness, nor my recession like a tide from your company,

nor my alabaster gaze that sails just over your reflection

I merely take what you present, without comment or question,

merely reflect it back at you.

If I did anything different, you would break me,

being a mirror, as I am.

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Image credits in order of appearance:

A Seaworthy Frigate