that angel's touch

staring straight at the funhouse mirror

you see yourself with a unibrow

although you are looking straight ahead, in the mirror your eyes appear downcast

you see an angel on your right shoulder and a devil on your left

"those things aren't real," you think. "i don't have a unibrow."

you press your finger to the bridge of your nose and slide it upward with trepidation, wondering if you'll feel the thick frida kahlo bridge you just saw in your reflection

when you hit fuzz, you gasp

you decide to leave the funhouse and go to a regular mirror

the exit is down a corridor, and a woman in a long, white dress approaches you from the other end

she is carrying a hand mirror, which is facing toward you

in that mirror, your eyebrows are separated again

your eyes are looking straight ahead

the angel and the devil are gone

but, doubting yourself, you think maybe the funhouse mirror was true

did it show you the angel, devil and unibrow you never knew you had?

"angel," you whisper, "are you my conscience?" and a voice from over your right shoulder says, "yes"

"devil," you ask, "are you my bad intentions?" and a voice from over your left shoulder says, "yes."

you've almost forgotten the woman in the white dress who is now stripping, slipping the white sleeves off her shoulder, exposing her breasts.
"Oh no, no, no," you say, but the woman with the mirror says, "yes."