I dreamed of your face last night.
Hidden in the portraits in photographer’s frames.
A smile forever caught in perfect perpetuity;
Could it ever be real?
You were still in that gallery of ghosts,
Of memories lived before another’s lense.
I walked amongst the frozen displays,
Watching animation stills of a different film.
I dreamed of your face last night,
wishing it to emerge from the grayscale
of someone else’s idea of your beauty
To be real and solid in the cold light of the dawn.