You walk a tightrope between
a photograph and my mind;
with careful steps i create you,
slowly, and imbue the figmented you
with your delicacy and beauty.

I know that you cannot exist in the space here;
the distance between my eyes and your portrait,
without having existed in my perceptions
at some other point before this moment,
and that right now
the real you
lives at a distance from me which mere miles cannot express.

But right now I am happy
to have you balancing on some invisible thread
which extends out to my face from your printed likeness,
for i am free to contemplate how to balance you
into the waking and sleeping moments of my life
without worrying about
where my tip-toeing steps fall
along lines of romantic delusion
and existential affection.