Photograph

My heart flutters and skips a beat as her face peers through the photograph. She’s in bed, splayed, looking so enticing and yet still so innocent. And, in her eyes… a message.

Come to me. Be with me. Hold me.

My arms ache. Every breath trembles and breaks off in my chest.

I want her. I want this exotic, ripe, sensual goddess of a woman. I want her to look at me the way she looks at the camera. I want her to lay at my side, in my arms.

But can I? May I? Everything that I want and everything that is right seem to battle together, becoming so separated and so conjoined while I stare at this woman that I can no longer tell them apart.

I want her.

I cannot have her.

But I want her.

And, as she peeks coyly out at me from her photograph, I fall to pieces in her gaze.