He longs to draw the contours of your face

Not in portrait and structure,

But the way you look at him

Just like that, he holds the image still

The way you lifted your chin

Looked up at the ceiling with wondering eyes

Considering, what you would say to him

Thoughtfully, but with a crooked smile

Not a tease, just a question. What if?

And he holds that image in his mind

Carefully, like a newborn child

Treasuring the pleasure in the preciousness

The silent conversations between your thoughts.

And pureness in the mindfulness

Of your reckoning.