Every wrinkle, every curve.
The arch in your brow, the hollows of your cheek.
Even in dreams, I can paint you with my hands.
I smear blue-indigo watercolors into the air and paint the lilts of your voice.
I breathe you in, the smell of autumn leaves and old books.
I whisper your name.
But everything washes out,
I wake up,
and find that time will not let me forget.
I think I loved you.
Don't say a word, memory.
Just come over and lie here with me.