Cascading midnight curls, your hair, her hair.
A frame so slight and light, your frame, her frame.
But there the likeness stopped, and so the game,
The game my mind will play but cannot bear,
In every crowd, my eyes pull out your face,
And frame and features, yes, your every trace.

But eyes can’t build a treasure from the parts
That, taken like some ghoulish graveyard theft,
Are joined together ‘til not one is left
And sewn each piece by necromantic arts.
These parts, they do not mesh into the whole
And leave the scars of joining on my soul.

It’s you my eyes will ever long to see.
The imitations cannot quake my earth
Nor move my heart to discover their worth.
It’s you and always you, as it must be,
Who haunts my dreams asleep and dreams awake,
And who, as a whole, I’d forever take.