imprints

 

 

you wanted me to write you a poem. i couldn’t

because i couldn’t memorize the lines

of your face. it is too new. i wanted

to write about the bridge of your nose. your proud smirk.

the same number of years that have creased

your forehead. i wanted to disguise your ugly eyes

with some metaphor you would probably confuse

with the longing you have seen. your eyes are ugly

when they are swollen and you haven’t slept.

they don’t light up the way they do when you

are telling me stories about your father, or when you talk

about football practice. or the way they did when

i first told you i loved you. right now they look

like they are born out of the dark circles under them. i wanted

to write about you. i guess i just did.

 

 

 

For C.

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