let’s become journalists with cameras worth more than our entire lives,
documenting human nature through case studies
in which we are the subjects;
turn on the video camera.
switch on the webcam before you fall asleep,
position it carefully so it keeps your heart and head in full view,
because i don’t want to miss a breath you take,
an oath you mutter (though you swear you don’t swear)
or the way your eyelashes flutter just so in morning breezes.
wake up and crawl into my bed.
creep from the foot because you think it’s funny,
pretending to be an odalisque well-versed in the ways of loving.
we’ll write stories on the sheets,
shed articles of clothing splashed and stained with headlines like
“couple stays together for more than a year”,
“is forever possible after all?” or maybe just
“two dorks discover whole new ways to be…dorks”
because that’s what we are, really:
a pair of nerds ,
newsprint and carbon paper dreams.
take a picture of my sunlit drowsiness
and tell me i look like hell as you tangle your fingers in the jungle on my head.
i’ll snatch the camera away, call you an asshole
and press the shutter button on the shape of your smile.
when we become famous photojournalists
and every magazine is struggling to turn our third eyes inward on us,
asking the questions we kept to ourselves like
“what gave you the idea for this spread
we’ll laugh cryptically and say in unison
click on art
and learn about love.”