Not Anymore

I want to keep her.
That girl who is not me.
With her teeth still whole and uncracked
The skin of her thighs unstretched.
I get caught stealing backward glances in her direction
and look down ashamed while the heat of her yellow hair
cascading in the the xanthous light
still tingles
like a phantom limb against my cheek.

She still carries the kiss
On the upper-right hand corner of her lip
And her mind with its puzzling gilt boxes, each encapsulating the next
Still holds the innermost box, safe
unopened

I listen to the soft whisper of her footsteps
when i am enclosed in headphones.

She often stands silent at my shoulder
dropping strands of saffron into my tea
and wearing holes into the elbows of my sleeves
She makes the dust in the afternoon sun
glitter

But as months fall away
her golden luminance dulls
and the strands of yellow hair begin to thin.
She feels transparent, and out of place
like a lonely telephone pole
against a landscape of desert sky and joshua trees.
The more i grasp and clutch her towards me,
The more she fades into memory
This girl who is not me.
No, not anymore.