When I look at you,
I am transported to another state of being.
Another time, another place –
a consciousness in which I am unconscious
of everything but you.
I want my eyes to wander along every inch of your body
and commit it to memory.

Memory, memory, yes, to memory.
I would rather rid the ocean of its waves
than forget the curve of your spine.
I want the freckles decorating your cheekbone and neck
to be the stars in my internal sky.
My mind is the canvas;
you are the painter.
Be an impressionist painter,
not because it has to be beautiful
but because it has to leave an impression.