Yeah, I don't want you
to look at me that way.
I don't want anyone to know
that I looked at you this way.
Burn the picture,
shred the evidence.
I don't want to exist
in your world after me.
I am haunted by your camera.
I imagine you laying there
photographing your new lover.
Smiles, soft looks of adoration,
shying away from the lens,
your hand steady, click,
a smile on your lips,
you captured me once again.
I don't want anyone to know
this proof that I was yours.
Burn it. Please.
Let no one see me love you
as I did in that picture.
Sometimes the things someone tells me haunts me, then reappears in poetry. So... I don't know if this is any good or not. I imagine I need to cut it down.
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