Pictures

There are no pictures of me and him
smiling and laughing at parties.
We go and come home again after,
undocumented. If someone were to
ask where we went or what happened
we could say nothing at all and keep
the secret to ourselves.

I’ve found so many pictures
of you and me: me with my tongue
stuck out, you mid-chuckle. Both holding
brightly colored drinks and gazing at the other.
Maybe it was the pictures that did us in.
Observation forced order into chaos
because you can’t live up to the face you’re
making.

What could you have said to prompt my tongue?
What could have possibly been that funny?


© meredith c. jones