I have a picture of you saved,
For no eyes but my own,
That I take out of my drawer
Every day when I come home.

I pretend you're here in front of me,
As your body remains statuous,
And cry into the picture
As my grief for you grows fatuous.

For though your captured smile is still
I hear your loving laugh.
That joy can't even be contained
Inside this photograph.

And though your captured skin is still
I feel your heat reach mine,
Radiating through the frame,
Its mem'ries stopping time.

And though your captured eyes are still
The beauty of your gaze is just
Too much for this poor photo
To be able to contain.

They say a thousand words
A single picture can confess.
But your frozen lips say nothing
As the sun sets in the west.

In your melancholic silence
I place the picture in the drawer.
Tomorrow I'll take it out again
And grieve your love once more.

- p. winter