You

I began a sketch of you some four years ago–

picked up paper and pencil and scratched out half a profile,

topped with wild, curled hair that shadowed your face.

And then I crumpled the sheet and threw it aside.

I drew other faces with fine hair and full lips,

bushy brows and stately noses;

and they all had your eyes.

 

I came back to the sketch I forgot:

I did not recognize the form I’d made, and neither did you.

Together we erased the lines of that old sketch,

blew away the excess and picked up a pen.

The eyes, to start: flickering nebulas centered with black holes,

leading to universes and dimensions I do not fully understand

and neither do you, and we are astounded.

 

Beneath, the scattered stars that dance across your cheekbones,

And smoothed back from your temples:

hair that does not hide your face, but frames it.

And below are the sweet lips that warm my heart with their breath

And flame my cheeks with their words:

they smile at me and I smile too

and pass on some charming witticism.

 

This sketch is not complete—

you know as well as I that you will change and grow and wax and wane

But here I will try to do your visage and your person justice with this:

You live a sort of brilliance, with a mind methodic, spritely,

and possess a heart unashamed to laugh, cry, love

for you know it is honorable to live and love.

 

 

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