likeness raze the second-last time i saw the inside of a church, you sat at someone else's dining room table and drew my portrait. pencil on paper. one of the talents you hid so well you forgot it was yours. it's a startling likeness. my mane so much wilder than you wanted it to be. storm clouds in my eyes. my shirt a dark-collared duvet. on the flip side is your second husband's forehead. the rest of his face left behind on the cloth this was cut from. even incomplete, i can see his scowl. you captured that face in a photograph that held me in its foreground. here, you said to the man you chose. this is why i'm always asking you what's wrong. this is how you look every moment you're awake. 250512 what's it to you? who go blather from