Want it back?

Do you remember your shadow,
escorted in grace
that lit you, and  bit you all over your face?

How it dictated your chin with creases of black,
that up until now,
I haven't wanted back.

More scared now than I’ve ever been?
How obscene,
I daren't preen,
on what that might mean.

Though justified in my pupil adhering to shadow,
and the light limbered-lynch,
of lip on tobacco.

To say I'm ruptured in word, oh how very shallow.

Can't digest the days and sip nights, when so far,
from rain-draggled thoughts and the beauty you are.