They Hired Someone’s Daughter to Look Like You.

It’s a thing they do for men like me.

Don’t hide a thing, I said as I transferred funds.

She became water, water-like.
It was water like water
in the pool of a grand hotel—
delicate but undrinkable.

Don’t look away from me, I begged.
She didn’t—after all I paid.

She was water with the moon’s impression—
night water—
depthless, no doubt—but now a mirror in the dark.

Please, may I dress you?

I poured her into glass.
And admired her, even though I was thirsty.
My mouth felt like grape skin,
and I held her in my hand as a spell became my mind.

The glass fell. It fell
and broke.

I told the bell boy I needed more,
and they hired someone’s daughter to look like you.

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