Mascara

I stand in the doorway,
Watch her face in the mirror,
She smiles, surprised as I walk nearer,
She hums, holds a comb,
Brushing strokes through her hair,
A pat from her powder,
"So you know that I'm there."
My cufflinks are dull,
My shoes stay untouched,
And it makes me blue to know,
She must resort to so much . . .

Her palms I touch,
  Her hands I clutch,
    Only to see through the mascara and say,
      "I love you so much."