photograph

You would love me if I were a camera. A dead eye only opened to reveal your truth to the waiting world. A passage to every paid for blessing, the breathless adulation, the thoughtless wonder your beauty must command. You would love me past these scattered words, past these fitful premonitions. Were I a camera, you would see me as the light shining in your bright eyes.

Light is the last measure, the first to leave its mark. Light contains the feast and the morsel, the source and its extinction. It is reach and touch, the fire and the breach. It is the ache of the world without you. It is the whole hearted prayer of the sunlight upon your face. You have seen too much too quickly to see me even as a shadow. You have seen to much to ever see me past the casting.

Time unwinds, and want becomes my name and nature. The emptiness of forgetting all things save those I can not know, slipping away from this world of stares and whispers. Slipping away like the warmth of lost breath, like a bullet losing everything save direction once expelled. I am all aim though, and you are nothing but the distance of pictures. Light shaped against dead lenses and the crippled count of either/or. Everything of seeing except the sight, the fast finished save for the flavor and the food. Everything of loving except the absence of a heart to beat.