Your face - so young
So beautiful to me
It catches my eye
Seducing me to return

To see it - to know it
Yet I don't know 'you'
I have never met you
Perhaps I never will

Your pretty left eye - Its pretty left eye
Your dark hair - Its dark hair
How that eye holds me
With its gaze averted

Your scarf - of biege
So tenderly wrapped
I can feel its warmth
Yet I've never touched it

Your portrait - a masterpiece
Yet it is not 'you'
We must face that fact together
As exhibitionist and ******

It's not paper - it's not paint
For when I leave this room
I'll ever still see 'it'
Not paper, paint or you

It exists - you exist
I exist also
You created the portrait
But what created me?

I turn - I leave
With one last look I think
I do not know her, but she
Should be proud of what she's done.


An early poem I thought I'd lost!