full-body mirror

The mirror bounces back my own skin, and I knead it underneath my hands like the body of a lover. Imagining her there against my silhouette. Her figure is smaller, and her legs shake just enough as I roll my palms down her arms, up her sides. I reach out to touch her and hit glass. The illusion breaks. To know my own form like another person, to touch it like it deserves that same worship I'd give to anyone else, anyone other than me. Hah, it's a joke. Who am I to appease this body when I couldn't please a lover?