you printed out a photo i took of you

and kept it under

the glass surface of your desk

your smile all glassy

opaque because it was taken on a misty day

i still see that photo before it became one

as i stared through the viewfinder

i remember the moment i clicked on the shutter

one flash.

our eyes crashed

in that nugget of a second

a piecemeal attempt at eternalising

something that was already dissolving

like honey in water

it rained when we went to get those photos printed

another memory witnessed by none

i almost doubt its authenticity

we combed through the town on that scooter

in the maze of alleyways i held on to the hem of your shirt

a future self regretting not having my arms around your waist instead.

why did your skin burn like that

if none of it was real?

what was it supposed to mean

knowing what i know now?

i gave you a photo for my birthday

the one i still have on my shelf

a fraction in time forever shelved

and kept still.

i guess that’ll suffice.

that’s the kind of love i feed off of now

a photograph, a metaphor.