what happens when Narcissus shows
a face in ribbons
and red
that cannot reflect
aching bones and
corporal betrayal
the horrid looks
at monster flesh when
she once served haute cuisine
with a flourish
eyes smiled in her head
quick wit, gleaming bright
but her ravaged music slammed through
the walls at night
and remembering the scent and curled dust
of her psoriasis skin
makes me think
she must be gone
Ave El, Narcissus was unkind

Day 21 (I’m all out of sequence): try writing a poem that plays with the Narcissus myth in some way