How I loved to trace,
It was a childish hobby I’ve always had,
Over and over I ran my finger along every detail,
The grooves her round cherry cheeks made on her face,
The jawline that reminded me of an opened book,
The thin red lips that felt so much bigger against mine,
She has never asked me why I do such things but if she were to ask I would probably say,
“My dear, there are times when I yearn to see your face but I can’t.” And I will hold up my index finger,
“so I need a stencil.”