Paris, Three

I've drawn your face
On tablecloths across the country.
Tracing your smile
With my index finger,
Making your hair just so.
Till now you're more
What I want you to be
Than what you are.

I can paint your eyes and say
This is where I lived
For twenty minutes and more.

I order grapefruit
And pay for ruined napkins.
And between the morning and the evening
I draw your face a little fainter each day. 

Oh good is this poem? Whether a crush or a love, it takes time to heal all wounds.