conte

you are just a gesture in my memory

no detailed drawing here, love

perhaps just a build up of senses

just blue eyes, just long eyelashes

just perfect ears, just languid voice

danger poet hands and wicked animalistic grin

full of tenderness and trust

of mistrust and unease

of open arms and willingness

of fear and timidity

my arm moves up and down your spine

fast and nimble

i capture you in seconds

in minutes

but after more and more time it becomes apparent

it becomes apparent that it is not you

you evaded me again

so i'll drag my earthen black over the page once more

sweep it up and back down

side to side, there are your ribs

the ribs born of the soil

and there are your feet,

perfectly formed (good job this time)

your eye sockets not yet full with brimmed hope

mouth open and waiting patiently

hands soft and waiting patiently

you do not exist here,

though i wish you would