The Outline of Her

Do not douse her fire by being blind to her.

She may seem commonplace

or a fixture in the other room

or just a body that exists in a lifetime shared

because you and she lived

in a parallel time such that

you happen to know each other.

Time passes, clock ticking, and she begs to know

what will be left behind

when her name comes to mind after she is gone

Will it be said

I wish I made shared time,

I wish I held her, breath felt, heart heard,

I wish I danced through the night with her,

to hear what it is she believes

what colors her dreams and

what were the stories of her past.

Will it be said

I wish I declared when I wanted her

so, together, I heard her secrets

of what ignites her soul

what she believes, despises, cherishes and craves

and gave her what she loves and lusts.

Will anyone wonder

What brings her to tears?

What makes her scream?

What is it she sees before painting

her felt self

on the blank canvas?

Time passes, yes,

as do precious moments

to know her, to feel her.

She now walks through time

sensing loneliness in the midst of many

just a skeleton of a woman

only an outline

to be filled

if and when you color inside her lines.