Snapshot

Looking at this old snapshot of us,

anyone would think we were

together in that sense of

together we were not;

and no one would believe it if I said —
we were not.

Looking at this old snapshot of us,

anyone would notice

how my arms loop easily,

even possessively, around your neck,

and how I’m leaning into your side as though

your side were mine to lean into.

You’re facing the camera, smiling;

your right arm reaching comfortably

around the arch of my back,

your hand resting on my hip as though

you were used to resting it there, as though

my hip were yours to rest on.

Looking at this old snapshot of us,

anyone would notice—perhaps even feel—

the firmness of your arm as you pull me

closer, tighter into you, as though

we were together in that sense of

together we were not;

and no one would believe it if I said —
we were not.