mirrored me

I can not doubt that I am.

Jean-Paul Sartre, Being and Nothingness

when i look at my naked body in the mirror,
all i see is a history written in the surgical scars.

so i am that longing corpse, not quite old yet,
but not as lively as it used to be, still continuing
the daily cycle of absorption and excretion
but increasingly failing in one way or another,
although annoying rather than threatening so far.

every now and then it reminds me of the meaning
of the word lust, although more and more often
all i think about is holding someone’s hand while
walking on the beach or cuddling on the sofa
during a film. exchange a smile above anything else.

when i look at my naked body in the mirror,
all i see is a history foretold in the navel scar.

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