The flat of a mirror is beveled,
where I slid off the edge,
light bending backwards
and forcing choices, my head turned
to look for the three
    –  you and me and she.

I was a bevel of light from the looking glass. 
I was Alice floating like cotton candy
and laced with cinnamon hearts. 
I held tight while 
she and thee stuck your tongues out,
catching strands of pastel sugar
spun in funhouse booths.
She and we were sweet in youth
before touching the edge
of every last word she said.