Called "The Portrait Without Features."
No, not from what you'd said, but murmured, had grown.
Grown beautiful, abundant now before your own dissolutions,
bringing your body, at last, to the sheer weightlessness
of each breath.
Isn't this what's meant?
This transliteration of every part?
The lymph at last in efflorescence?
Hunch now against nothing.
Roll your shoulders over the vaporous bulk of so much pillow,
letting your teeth feed deep upon their very lips.
If the windows this instant blew open, they'd never close."