simple done is
you’ve begun your
bitter dance,
you fall, you laugh,
hesitate,
seem to contemplate,
like someone old.
a reflection shows me
watching you
watch him watch her
watch you,
like you were the
mirror in a whore
house, inside a pill
box; under berlin
when it ended.
fear, it mothers us,
nurses our awakening
sensuals, unfolding
the scrotum
into mandibles
and cock to cream.
dancing on the moon,
reflecting willowettes
in silhouettes of raven black,
as you rise and turn,
fall,
to the slow spinning light
of her hidden boy.
poetryandpoet 
Good grief…