first letter level

a wicked late night in the mirror belie my bleary eyes i try to look inside and see what the pupils hide what hides is hidden and hid and stopping my sight search i turn to my face and notice the lines of gravitous time what poor lighting was put in this room that shades and shapes the pallid plane of my face i take a step back into dim light and peer at my profile which, with one eye pressed, now looks perfect in the mirrors reflection a wicked late night