you stand at the mirror in the picture I have of you. it's fogged but for one clear streak from your long strong fingers. I’m perched tubside, out of frame watching you lather your badger brush. I want you to put your hand on my cheek, tip my chin back, and scrape the steel across my skin. the white foam falls into the sink, still white. I want you to render me gentle and smooth my reflection soft with steam, and you’re soft too. I want you to find my eyes In every morning mirror