Jan. 17, 2010
I run my hand through your face,
Mapping every soft curve; your beauty trace.
I try to remember the details: every line, every crease.
I’ll take all the time the clocks would lease.
For when I’m old and gray,
When my memories nary stay,
Even then I want to remember how you looked,
God forgive me for all the moments I forsook,
Because when I’m old and gray,
When my own eyesight betray,
I want your face, sweet and bright,
To be the only thing my remembrances of this world recite.
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