Good Run

cool fall breezes

and warm afternoon sun;

the soft smell of soap

that lingers on my palms;

light blind shadows

that stripe my walls; 

cool sheets

and good people-

all these things I do not deserve. 

sometimes 

when i put on my perfume,

subtle and warm, 

 i catch my reflection in the mirror

and contemplate crying

as a tear slides halfheartedly down

my cheek.

for what does this mean?

to be solid

to have a reflection

if i can't be like that I dream

am i merely stardust wasted?

stuck in a vacuum cleaner?

a housewife who can never stop cleaning

for if she does devastation might overtake her will 

and splay onto her face? 

am i destined to be nothing at all?

just a trivial metaphor-

overused like that of the colors of fall-

still beautiful upon meeting

but tasteless from afar.