Their cigarettes wasting to nought.

Bodies locked to a mirror, an eye. An impetuous shutter.

Look. Here.At me. The skin a mere pelt, a hide, a peel.

What is this theatricality, this amorous vanity?
A line from the chin will elongate the nose.

Black will brighten the whites of the eyes.

Shaving the hairline will heighten the brow.

Charm me. Render me impervious to injury.
Make me invisible                     at night.

Skin like water, teeth like milk, the sapling back.

Make me invisible at night. The body as transit, coinage.

Consequence. Clean repetition of I am. Here. Look. At me.
Stopped in front of a mirror, self locking self

into place. Stopped at the side of a lake,

ledge of a window. Stopped, the impetuous shuttering.

We are in transit, no thought but the next,
vanity etching the surface.

The boys are shirtless: ornament and pronoun

poised just inches away from disorder

and trembling, death and the endless expanse.