Huddled in a corner, within a darkened room,
shivering against the cold, draft of memories.
I recognize those eyes, wide with tears
wisps of long, fine hair
flowing like lace...
And, Oh... that face...
like masterfully crafted ivory,
so fit for view.
Under the artist's light
dangling above
carefully sculpting, hands of love.
I wish I were an artist...
to gently brush those tears away;
lift the corners of her lips.
Maybe, I can form a smile
with a silly little dance?
Draw back the curtains with a song,
sung, half out of tune...
It has worked in the past.
Yet...how to...
make it
last...???
