There is something double in me that loves a mirror.
I can tell its age only by looking in the mirror.
If you do not exist, I would have to invent you,
my rival, my accomplice, my envy, my mirror.
Not that the fire engine is anything like the fire,
but as the day is to the night, to me the mirror.
Sure you can handle me sleeping in your place again?
I hear him in your words. I see him in your mirror.
You look Chinese, black hair, dark eyes, smooth chin, and slim.
Right cannot be told from left—or wrong—in this mirror.
His first love was a Filipino priest in church,
Mine a white physicist. Our past is smoke and mirrors.
You speak so freely of a past I do not share.
Know you are in Jee’s looks, his eyes, his sights, his mirror.