Who learned a lesson called “I love you” as a kid? Momma did, Momma said she did Love me-you I mean. Momma loved the American Baby, she gave that little squeaking lump its first smear of eye shadow Baby learned how to say “I love you” Baby learned how to look in the mirror Baby learned how to say “I love you” to the mirror apply eye shadow and now say back - “I love you more.” Baby grew up. strut down beauty boulevard in gleamy plats glanced in mirror store window - “Baby, I love you.” mirror grew up too. all new gadgetry. mirror slaps eye shadow on Baby with a magic tap mirror turns Baby into a damn sexy puppy a.n.d. shows off to all Baby’s friends.--- teeth bared. I HAVE TO MOVE. I HATE LIVING HERE eyes tense wide open. WHY DO YOU HAVE TO MAKE EVERYTHING SO DIFFICULT cheek trickle shimmers gold and black flecks.--- there’s gold in that river - there’s enough deep teal sprinkle shine lime lit blinding buckshot scatter glitter to cram every crack in the side walk there’s enough gold in that river to smear on the souls we come home to, too but what alchemy makes two “I love You”’s into “I love I” and “You love You”