Through the Looking Glass

lFog rolls on pouts

of smoke from

the pipe of Hookah

she puffed in

autumn air.

 

She inhales

poetic scents

of  Middle-Eastern spices

and perfume

linking her

to the pipe

and a circle

of  plastic smiles

and Arabic lullabies.

 

There is a glass,

a looking glass,

she stares in

opposite directions

of the mirrored walls

shadowing a woman

with scarlet lips

and auburn-colored streaks

of frizzy hair.

 

Circular faces

surround her

body and all

exchange a puff

of  fragrance

and discolored scents

seeping from

their purple-blue lips.

 

Oxygen deprives

their fog of smoke

like a chill of autumn breeze

and leaves falling from trees

above the Hookah bar.

Carbon Dioxide bubbles

the glass as the woman

stares through the looking glass,

a strange reflection

of flavored scents

and hand prints.

 

Her lungs expand

and deflate with

the force of gravity

pulling Carbon Dioxide

from her chest

as she takes in her last breath

of Oxygen air.

 

She lets the looking glass

fog her reflection

in a heat of spicy-flavored smoke

and traces her hands

against the palm prints

of a woman

who chose to

suffocate with a circle

of plastic smiles

and Arabic lullabies.

 

She smiles through

the looking glass.

All she needs

is another puff

to fog her reflection

of  Marylyn-Monroe

and Virgin Mary

staring at her

with a polka-dot dress

and a rosary

reaping prayer

and sin.

 

Never will she

look through the

looking glass again.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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2 thoughts on “Through the Looking Glass”

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