Some poetry because . . . well, why not. I don't usually let people read my stuff just because I figure it's self-indulgent crap. But then, who cares?

Photos
In fits of nostalgia I take it down
The box
The pictures
From the scraps of paper corpses look back
Grinning
Eyes flashing
Dead from the moment that the shutter closed
And still
They haunt me
Moments of joy forever lost to me

Flirt
Eyes lock. A smile
Like a physical assault.
I turn, eyes downcast.
Ashamed of myself.
Ashamed of him.
How dare I imagine?
How dare he
Look?