There are flowers in the mirrors

There are flowers in the mirrors
I see you. Fever! I see the sheets.

There is a bed stand table. There are mirrors.

There are flowers in the mirrors.

There is the fullness that never ends:

I seem to see you, I thought I had, had I?

I placed a locket by your hand.

Do you remember? Feel for it. It must be there.

 Anatol Cordua (c) 2017