I can spend a thousand minutes
caressing you with my brush,
and though tomorrow you will again be
a blank canvas
I will paint you again another way
perhaps remembering
perhaps forgetting
your beauty at this magical moment.
You have spent a lifetime
caressing me with your fingers,
and though tomorrow I will again be
dust
You will mold me again in another form
always remembering
always forgetting
my beauty and ugliness at this magical moment.