you look like an oil painting

every small detail picked from the most precise pigment with the tiniest brush

every hair, every freckle, every crack in your lips was placed by the hands of a God

your voice feels like a French piano in a deserted bar, which very few appreciate fully

your movements are soft and delicate as if you've been practicing

but the oil painting was stolen and now I only see it in old magazines and memories

and I don't remember the shade of your hair or how many freckles you have or if you've bought a lip balm to soften the cracks

your voice is probably different now, the piano has been switched out for an organ which I couldn't pick out in a crowd if I tried

also