The Portrait

I draw my thoughts and feelings

On your face,

Imagining they are

Your own,

/

And put such words between your lips

As you would never say;

To me

It matters not

/

That you do not exist

The way I see you:

A book in progress

I complete too soon

/

An empty canvas, which I over-paint

With meaning,

But dry paint cracks, and you emerge –

The true you I don’t know