Ten or twelve stills switch before me in a meagre few seconds
The pressure lessens in my right thumb.
The flash flood of memories ceases.
Now I'm gawking into the eyes - your eyes - in the centre of the display screen
But are they your eyes? I can't make sense of it.
Olives and ochres, I know the hue like I know the back of my hand.
Something's absent for it not to be you I’m clutching.

The lens hasn't been able to capture it all.
The momentary connection
When I see my reflection
Living, thriving in your eyes, inside of you, part of you
That binds us for as long as the Moon pulls in the tide,
A glimpse of my unbridled grin shining back at me in the darkness of your pupil.
Dark, yet bright. How could the bleakest black prove to be
My greatest light?
The real shadows reside far from here.

a penny on the street, 699 in my pocket.
just one penny short
it's strange that, while i hold so many in my palm,
all identical, bar some slight green tinge that coats a corner or two,
only faintly disfigured,
the one i don't have appears to be worth exceptionally more.
aren't all my pennies worth to me just as much?
i feel its absence more than their presence.
maybe someday somebody will pick up my penny, maybe it rains, maybe it shines,
and never again shall i hold it safe in my pocket.
while i may find another bouquet, i will always remain one short,
two short,
three short.
always short after loss.

i hope that one day, should the lord grant me the license,
i will stumble across the love to last a lifetime, and then some,
and i hope to love like an hourglass.
for when things fall apart, they fall apart together.

two frivolous specks of cerulean sand
buried amongst a swarm of other indistinguishable specks
stick side by side, see through the uniform structure,
we're all here for a common goal, aren't we?
they see through the inevitable fate of everything familiar slipping by,
life slipping by,
its calamities slipping by, and then
they slip by,
hand in hand,
soul in soul,
intertwined; one,
resting atop the hourglass.