David Lightfoot
Too Close, For Comfort
There came a time, when we were far apart,
try as we might, I could not shape your face
in my mind’s eye. I’d get so far - your hair,
your brow, your nose, your mouth, those eyes —
each feature clear, but every time I’d start
to view them as a whole, there’d be no trace
of the distinguishable you. So where
exactly was the object of my sighs?
Now, when I hold you close, cheek pressed to brow,
I momentarily lose sight of you
again, though have no doubt you’re here.
So, when I’m dead and you can’t picture how
I used to look, my dear, what you must do
is think the reason is I’m far too near.
Page(s) 26
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