When everything is obvious
Nothing is extremely clear—
Tentative answers don their gauzy cloaks,
And saunter down an endless, ill-lit hall
Through a succession of half-open doors
Through which tantalizing tableaux
Never quite click into focus.
Something’s on the tip of your tongue,
Sweet and salty at the same time,
Familiar yet wholly strange,
So you turn to the face in the mirror
And could swear you’d seen it before.
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