her picture frames,
they hold
only pictures
of you

without you,
her frames
are blank
canvases
of endless
cold

you are when
she learned
that love
was hot,
and
could actually
grow

without you,
she has
no pictures
for her
frames
to hold

you are
the only love
that she,
has wantingly
ever known

'she cries'
- new
with you
my love,
will never
get old

be the art,
that fills
her frame;
her priceless art
to never
be sold