I saw your face
once or twice
but I do not know it
I could not trace it with the finest pencil
I could not sculpt its curves in clay
nor describe its contours with my pale words
The only parts of you I know
your soft, damp hands
hastily scribbled words
and your name
are the parts of you
that saved me
when I was all but lost
YOU ARE READING
Nine Poems for Girls Who Won't Read Them
PoetryA collection of poems for the dear friends I'll never meet again. ... and for the devil we cast out, times eight. This is my confession.
