The photograph fits perfectly
On that blue wall,
It fits in my heart too.
It has a place to rest here
It has a home.

That smile, with is crooked corners,
Is no more.
Those eyes,
With reflections of a time nailed
To the past: they're gone.

I have your hair and I love you
For that. It is the pieces of you
That have made me.
It makes me a convict of the past.
I am there. Always in the past.

A bandit took your photo.
I can remember it still, just not you.
Oh how the moon won't tell me where you are. Oh how the sun burns when I stare at it and I ask it: have you seen a missing angel today?

A lack of a reply is a reply: no.
That picture is gone now.
Although I Still have pieces of you,
I cannot truly remember you.
That photograph was a time machine.

although it had a home to call its own,
It lacked a purpose.
It lacked a reason to exists.
It lacked you.
It lacked you.
It lacked me.