The Photographer Hates To Be Photographed

She takes amazing photos.
Her light angles follow god’s
Gaze, she captures a joke’s
Residue and akimbo poses in film.
When she photographs me,
Her face resembles Poe’s
House of Usher.

When our roles are reversed,
And she finds herself on the
Other side of the lens, she hides
Her face in hands, with giggles.
She’ll look away, staring off at
The distance with Penelope’s visage.

I snap the photos regardless.
They never come out as beautiful
As hers. I won’t print them.
Not because I am embarrassed of them.
I flip through my photos of her
(On the camera she gifted me on
My last birthday) whenever the air
Between us hangs stagnant and heavy.

Copyright 2012
A. J. Hayes
Give a poet a pen