pin me down in your photograph album

'I fell in love with your pictures the ones you took on vacation
with the camera I like to imagine a bit bulky and worn
I wanted to make love to the places you've seen like reenactments,
only I'd kiss you better and my garden would be softer, far more moist
when the cream of my skin nourished your thirst in the glimmer of morning your breath would take pause and your brush would run fast across scraps of wood to fill the fibers with pieces of us'

I would hold off the reality that not only had there never been
nor ever would there be an us-
cause for now, this is twilight
and in all the places I can hide in the dark, my favorite will be
opposing reality
( which faces me fast enough when dawn creeps over the edge of my bed)

stunningly, the light and her grace reaches
lovingly and slow into my curls and wraps a fist, gently, to secure me from the edge of my own undoing…
she has stood here in the mornings and shaken her head at my stories
clutched my hand and been my friend-
clinging to the smell of his shirt, sleeves rolled up

and so for me,
she'll watch him sleep
keeping account of every breath
peeking under his lid, rolling up the corner of his beautiful, thick lashes
pulling up a front seat to his evening travels
might he find comfort in my voice,
ah, but morning, she promises he is more haunted by my mouth.

and as if he had pinned me down in his photograph album, I will rest comfortably in the hammock of his limbs, making love to the places he has seen.