Curved Face

My face bends cold in steel,

mouth slack, eyes wide and wrong.

The curve traps something real—

a cracked note in a broken song.

Coffee steams near the edge,

but here in this metal bowl,

there’s a fractured, fogged-up pledge,

a reflection missing whole.

Half mine, half a mask,

blurred where the shadows fall.

Caught in this slight, strange task,

a face I barely recall.