What did you look like?

Between the turning of this page and arriving at the next, I

D
    R
      O

          P

      P

  E

D    the letters somewhere,

within which you were present. 
All jumbled on the tip,
sweetheart, what do I write about you now?

was your face an oblong egg or round as a coconut?
Your palms fit with mine( or did they?)
and the space we gave each other, was always enough but
we were never able to make an abode in it. 

Each day I forget a little
about what I saw. What I felt, however, remains unchanged.
The surface far below these alternatives

has the skeleton. I no longer remember what it looked like
wearing the skin.