I Confess

Your face is a dark mirage,
and I, a sylph of light, shimmer
before the jungle thoughts
where tigers haunt
in dreams and visions.

I own my own reflection,
cast before me,
green swathes upon black,
guilt-framed, and bound by vines.

I fear the creepers' cloying shadows,
fear the bare confession chair
where I gut my heart.