Speculum

I won't abandon our ritual.
We have a history to toast,
simple as pulp.

We are beyond smoke and mirrors,
the foggy glass where we first met
when our bond was just a leaky nostril.

I can't breathe without you,
your crescendo implacable.
You sit like an IV bag in the back

of my throat, a slow drip
administering medicine,
watering the bulb.

I only meant to toe the circumference
no bathe in your reflection,
tread upon the pane of Lethe.

Touche - I've been shellacked.