He must have forgotten her little by little,
She took his feet off first.
so that she could no longer in the night
go through the dream in which he was walking.
She then erased his hands,
he was blurring it as if he erased it
from a lectern the drawing of a woman,
She removed his hair, it was hard work.
because she got tangled between his fingers
like a ball of wool,
it took her several years
because the living model ate at his table
she slept in her bed
she was there in the house with her weight and her
perfume and her palpable voice like a knee,
That's why the method required him
remember her exactly as he had known her
with her sex on her like a city
in the night, with his big bronze eyes
that hurt like a sword,
with the joy of her that she was a garland
hanging in her mouth and her mouth that was
a well, a river,
the one who came down to drink like a horse
that she had died of hunger,
with hard work he forgot the taste of his
armpits, he forgot the spine that
pushed to tame the tiles like a
upright mare, the last day she seemed
a cyclops
and when he was finally able to erase that last existence, she looked up and realized
that mimeographed copy of the woman
with whom he lived
had been, after all,
a fraud.