Quarrel

My face is blurred
by the mirror
fogged by the steam of my too hot shower
I rub at it with my palm
but it does not clear
I grab the towel from my waist
and run it across the smooth surface
Still, it does not clear
I blow on it
my breath cool and minty fresh as the company guarantees
The condensation vanishes for a second
I see my face, wet
It fogs up again
as the steam condenses, engulfing the mirror once again
images
two droplets come together
a duo surrounded by a ring
of drops of varying sizes
they run down the glass
disappearing images
I rub the glass once again
and see myself
smeared slightly by the lines of water