That brief moment Walking into the shaded apartment to find you reading in flannel And everything in me jumps The camera obscura of my iris snaps, Suspending you in amber light. The tapered elegance of your fingers across a page A glint of Versailles blue-gold eyes And fortified ramparts of your shoulders. I will carry this vestige with me In a petticoat pocket Until we are old And your arms do not lift me as you just did The last strand of your hair is silver And your cheeks sink with age like your father’s. These small gems of youth Of promise To keep in a sleeve until they are needed And the mirrors show reflections we cannot change
I stood over you, blinding you with the flash of my polaroid camera. Writing "my best friend" on every one in black ink. Feeling the rumble of your voice on my cheek when you talked about your childhood on rainy days. Now this is all I have left. Memories like quicksand, slipping through my hands.
They think that cos they wearing badges that its power, feeling it be like they wild west. thinking they catching outlaws.
When they the ones letting the shots hit unarmed hands on his head. but they not moving as he shouted gun.
It wasn't even a mobile, they just trigger happy in blue as the family was in black.
Tears aren't bringing his last word back, Mum, Daddy, last cherished thought his baby girl. Tears fell silent as they had knees on his neck, what the **** he dead yet you thinking he needs cuffs, morality took a side step.
No one is on their knee no more, hands held at height trying to reach the fallen to show that they still being reached for.
I promise we ain't forgetting any fallen, we'll reach high walking the streets. They ain't holding pistols to this many.
Hands-on heads showing peaceful metaphors, we shouldn't have to be scared of a badge that's meant to protect not a knee on a neck.
Or a gunshot on an unarmed person, due to his demographical heritage. another fell like a tree in a forest.
But every flower has a camera and nothing falls silently anymore.
Perfectly curled caramel hair Cascades down her shoulders, Bouncing in time with the music. He can’t help but savor every Fragment of her movement as he Traces the camera around her frame, Capturing the dance. She’s an actress in every sense of the term, Her eyes sad yet powerful, Her body hurting yet beautiful. The music ends and she stops, breathless, Her hair that has fallen in front of her face Flowing up and down as she catches her breath. “Did you get it?” She asks him, And suddenly he’s back to himself, Back from the world her dance took him to. “Definitely,” he says, and when Her dimples break her face open, The camera is still rolling, For he doesn’t want to miss a second of her beauty. She isn’t just poetry. She is art.