I am here -- as opposed to what?
According to you.
My memory of you would not suffice.
Although the feel of you remains --
your hair, your skin --
the form of you quickly fades.
Your arm, yes, the bone of it, the muscle --
its shape more sensed than seen.
Could I describe your face?
As an artist might sketch a perpetrator (they often get it right).
Your nose. Straight, not wide, not long, not large.
A medium nose, yet so distinctly yours.
How long before I can no longer see it
in my mind's ill-attentive eye?
Sometimes, when you are not here, a shade of you
inhabits your favored space.
In the middle of the night,
a hint of weight on your side of the bed,
a suggestion of sound.
If I don't quite awaken, are you there?
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