Just for a moment she may have paused,
Adjusting her hair in the mirror:
Negligent, that's the effect she wanted,
Entering the room where her lover waited.
Nothing more, after all
Awaited her across the sill.
Only another mirror where she
Might see herself reflected
In the slant of her lover's eyes.
Might she have paused, too,
In the doorway, leaning against the jamb,
Reciting her catechism: the question,
"Is there nothing more?"
And answered as she'd been taught,
"Make do."