I paint portraits of her
photographs in my
head
those glimpses she sent me
when we first met
that linger in memory in ways
from which I can never divorce
her eyes, lips, shape of that hat
she wears or doesn't
the urges that came over me then
and since, the
irresistible temptation
I bring on myself
I painting pictures of her
from then because I no longer know
what she looks like
now
only how little my feelings have changed
the breathlessness
the ache
the pure pleasure of remembrance
I know will never
escape me
each portrait as
indelible in me
as a tattoo
and stings in the same way
when I recall them
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