sharing a stool designed for solo photos
we're laughing loudly, pulling curtains
held in tight fists.
shoving wrinkled dollars in a slot
promising us memories in a quick ten.
we're studying our reflections
comprimising poses of pursed lips
caught in a red flash,
reminding us to keep our eyes level
with the dotted line.
backs pushed in corners
contained, our time together proved through
a strip of photographic evidence
four squares of our faces
building blocks that tumbled now tucked,
between pages 231, 232 of Wuthering Heights.
sometimes, when i hold the strip to the light
checking for signs--
what the curves in my lips meant
how your eyes crinkled in the corners,
if there wasnt a proof of our happiness
i wouldnt believe these photographs.