You look into the camera that I could never be, passionate and insolent, weary and all heart. You wear the face of intimacy, used to guileless whispers and the casual press of flesh. The clock face blurred, the hour unkempt except for the shine you shed. All the depth of passion, all the ease of love. All the record left, scratched and clotted with hissing. All the proof there was, only aimed another way.
Time has chewed my bone to bits, my thoughts always adrift on some oblivion, my deeds catching up with their tails. Wrought with ache and dumb violence, the heart skips and paces. I just stare at this picture. I stare into the eyes of some stranger I tell myself I know. Without your eyes, the world unwinds. WIthout your gaze, it all goes to blazes.
In your photo you are deft and lovely, the light just billowing from the heat of your skin. In your photo you are the very heir to every subtle love, the face of blessed charm herself. A smile that hints of rare consolations, a graceful humor, a claiming of space. The time I spend, the time I wasted. The shuffling of cards, the winding of the clock. A little sizzle of electric light, a sensual pause, and whole worlds that I map that can never be. Like a kiss blown into a roiling legion you know is meant for only you.