Since
By imagining your face,
For as long as I can remind myself,
I don't get anywhere specific.
See,
My fingers are dipped
In the charcoal
As black as the priggish night.
Now,
I've to bury your face,
For my sketches are not to be
Ruined again and again.
My dear,you have even less wanted shades
than the charcoal leftovers.
-