Mirage

My last memory of you
is the sole hues
I will paint your visage in.

Break me,
and that twinkle in your irises
that was always speckled
amongst the blackness
will corrode.

Embrace me,
and a deathless rainbow
will reside across the soft of your cheeks,
the sunlit pinions of your eyelashes,
the chapped of your lips.

Forget me,
or leave me be,
and your portrait will be a blank canvas;
the roughness is my coarse desire
to torture your amnesic mind.

Reminiscence is vision,
and I’m not sure if I’m blind.