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.