“Woman at Mirror,” Theo van Rysselberghe, 1907, WikiArt.

Can longing gazes be misunderstood? Two
Strangers of divergent pasts, interests, yet
Of equal strengths, struggles, months of
Torture, pained to survive when unspoken
Affections are neither given nor received,
If expressed aloud are tragedy-destined,
Romance consisting of no expectations or
Obligations beyond fleeting moments, eyes
Touching when, where lips cannot, no
Gentle squeeze of fingers.

On sleepless, heart-pounding nights, my
Youth returns, warmth, blushing neck,
Breasts, visceral organs blood pulsing, I
Admit pleasured defeat, first dawning light,
Gazing into morning mirror, vexed wondering,
One a temple, the other fortress, clashing,
Conflicting. No, it would not be love, but
Insatiable madness. Alone, I yearn your
life-invading entrance, nameless face, eyes
Haunting, nights of servitude.

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