Frigid Stiff

Ours was of calculated countenances
Never expressive.
They say the eyes tell it all,
All ours had was ayes and nays.

– Pretty please.

Ours was of typos erased,
No sentence was of freehand,
No expressions came of freewill,
Every moment was premeditated.

– Walking the thread, walking dead.

It was a say cheese photograph
No smile was just a smile.
So now that they say our love is dead,
It’s ironic to say that of something that never had any life in it.

Image by Kester

Leave a reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

%d bloggers like this: