Before the Mirror

Why can’t I understand?
That reflection before me.
It’s not half as grand
as a soul less the body.

I reach out and touch
the coldest one.
So small so much.
The middle done.

I’m left handed. You’re not.
If it weren’t for habit I’d see
you as the beauty
while I rot.

The substance of this is only glass
That says come over and kiss my ask.
And I’ll kiss yours and we’ll be content
to have no one follow where we went.