Photograph
Her photograph had faded
over the years
its corners bent
the once off-white border
discolored from finger-oil
Over time she slipped inside
a plastic sleeve
her visage turning softer
her smile faraway yet forgiving
To be sure no words matched
the strength of her photograph
her haunting thoughts
filling my dreams
january two thousand twelve
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
jdubqca 
Great details in this, John! I liked the line “discolored from finger-oil”, which adds so much to the narrative. Makes me wonder about the history between them.
Thanks so much, Millie, I’m elated you enjoyed this one.