Sunday, December 11, 2005
a photograph
The man and the lady stood in the sepia colored photograph
The man had a mustache that curled upwards, pinstriped pants (bottle green, like a beetle, but you couldn’t tell from the picture), and a slightly creased left cuff
The woman’s bottom was enlarged by the pouf of her skirt and a parasol shaded the baby smooth curls of caramel on her head
The man and woman both curved their lips upward and showed their teeth
People used the word “happy” when describing them
He’d loved her once, when her hair was long, and her feet were light from dancing
She’d loved him once, when his breath smelled of sweet words
He’d loved her
He’d loved her and held her, rocking her gently under the gaze of the stars
They were the envy of the lonely moon
She’d loved him
She’d watch his back disappear into the trees, watch his wolfish saunter, so sure of himself, watch him from up in her gable window, and her breath would catch, her heart would flutter, would beat with the rhythm of his syncophated patent leather steps
She’d loved him once, when his breath smelled of sweet words - not alcohol and cigars, and lipstick that wasn’t hers
The man and the lady stood in the sepia colored photograph
Perfect, but for a detail that photographs, fortunately, cannot capture
the poet ♥
6:48 AM
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