she was a quick pencil sketch
nothing more than a moments
hurried hand
her perfume and brushed hair
an echo in the worlds soundtrack
she was a quick pencil sketch
in a world of masterpieces in motion
but thouse few dark lines
were spent here in the walls of this silent room
sketched in the afterimage of her presence
sketched in the lingering words of her farewell
each line cast down to page with a quickness
but drawn out in the mind
to slow abandon
to slow capitulation to a lesser dream
one of crying
one of loss
her perfumed brushed hair
catching the light
as the door closed
a masterpiece of motion to the world
a sketch of dire love to me