A Midmorning Dream

A crude awakening,

the mirror greeted,

with sarcastic cheer.

Hair flipped

and scattered

ever gleefully.

Watching a body

and eyes.

Person, or individual?

Hand twitching,

reaching for an eye

to dig a nail

around the contour

of the lens

and slide it

out of its socket.

As it stares

into a soul,

unfolds recognition

of what's behind

the forlorn facade.

Aside from

a midmorning glow,

It's a dashing look.

And only I know.

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