Photograph.

Do you remember
when you were behind the lens
and you took a snapshot
of a pair
trees behind, and wood underneath
limbs bent awkwardly
around one another
faces contorted in bemused expressions
not ready for your eagerness
and you separated
the white from the black
Did you look at the scene
laid out before you
my hair across my eyes
the imperfect embrace
and think
If that were me
If that were me.
Did you wish back then
to be in front of the lens
that covered your face
to be behind
the hair that covered my eyes?