The walls have eyes

There’s reflection in this construct,
and seeing you in them all glossy,
warped and out of focus,
lowers me into shallow pools
of hidden sideways glances,
as if to verify that your form ain’t really wavy,
like the imitating peering pane that captures and contains me;
allowing me the freedom
to see but not be seen.
This impressionistic window
is all that you have ever been.