The tormentor of time
Has tattooed
Abstract Statues
On his face
Using clay of wrinkles

His eyelids were sagging  
For the weight of excessive skin,
And almost hid his pupils.

I gave him food,
But he really needed
Was happiness-
Which I never had enough.

His image
Stages dramas
In my mind

Was his outer self  
A portrait of my inner self?