To be in her
photographs.
I am compelled to watch her
gliding across a room
hair like brushed velvet
flashes of color,
x-ray eyes that
widen slightly
when listening
head tilting, nodding a little
bestowing grace, touching
arms and shoulders
while laughing actual laughs
transforming
shadow,
bending light.
I am drawn to her photographs.
Playful fairy children.
Circles of smiling faces,
bursting from red darkness.
I have marshaled the will
to speak
with her.
To sit with her
soft raindrop words
eyes that blink and blink.
I have hugged her,
embracing her small
form
kissed her hand
and cheek
adored her from afar
and now from near.
I wish to sit in circles with her,
along side me.
I
wish to see how her fingers appear
entwined in mine.
I wish to tell her stories
lasting long into the night
exhausted,
laying together
until drifting off
head upon my chest
palm on delicate neck.
I wish to be
in her photographs
hands
and arms on her
cheek to cheek
Rough hewn me and
nymphet her
Cheshire smile
welcoming
me in.
