That Girl in the Sundress

does not resemble you—
her hair is too straight, too light
to be your dark, rich waves.
She is too young, too blank
in experience of life
to taste like the wine of your kiss,
your conversation. But she is bare,
or nearly so, and her beautiful
shoulders and slim, tanned legs
make me think of sex, and so,
the way a grainy photograph
must serve at times for soul,
this is why—how—she becomes you.