Number 18

She just had a shower after a long walk. Scrubbing off the nuisances of the day, flushing them with Tea Tree body wash. She opened that door, to look for a bottle of grapefruit juice. There was none. But there was a mirror. A long mirror. Warm light disclosed the sharp right half of her face. She paused, stared. She sat on the floor, reaching her reflection with the tip of the index. She entertained herself in conversations that would never have took place.
Dating herself; a discovery; a necessary soliloquy.

Number 15

I chase you memory every night, my love
this bottle helping me recalling
the way your lips curve nearby my skin,
the way your voice tickle my lobes,
the way your chest inflate under my hand.
And when the moon chases me,
      – under the spotlight
I raise up my sight,
and her, from that distance
she can reflect it too
the love I would, every night
give to you.