a thousand pictures

of you and me

together

apart

they don’t tell our story

not the truth

the love they witness

is not the love we feel

No camera tells our story

the heat of your kisses

tongue against my neck

my breast

love whispered

in hidden corners

behind closed doors

lost amid the milling crowds

under weeping willows

by sweeping rivers

where we meet and melt

arms and hearts entwined

for a time

the one we know

the two we are

the three we shouldn’t be

she from whom we

shelter the truth

that our love though true

is as wrong as it feels right

a thousand perfect pictures

tell our lies

multitudinous shades of grey

layered between the spectrum

from red to blue to yellow

tell lies that hide our true colors