If she knew about these images
he keeps of her,
in his mental vault
collected from the day they met,
and if he would give her access
to view each one showing
her Asian hair, its entire length
glazed with fluorescent light
or her skin, light colored, unblemished
pressed against a mound, rough and brown
or her slender fingers holding on
to a coffee cup, made of paper, black
or her cheeks, powdered pink, and rising
or her lips, red lipsticked, and glistening
would she wonder whether he ever
looked away?
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