Mirrors to the Soul
He kisses me and I melt into his touch, eyes closed, mouth open, wanting more. We move in tandem with each other. He whispers to my neck, things sweeter than I expect, he enters me and my eyes flutter open because he is suddenly stock still. Staring into my eyes, tears forming around the edges and I wonder why, until I look deeper.
His eyes aren’t the windows to his soul, they’re mirrors of mine, and for the first time in a century I find myself staring at my own face, reflected through brown lenses. I see myself in him.