I'm a slightly blurry picture taken
two years ago — my cheeks are flush with wine —
I smile, but not with my eyes; often
I'm the photographer, but not this time.
You stand with friends, arms around each other.
Your picture shows a party in progress.
You face the camera with much laughter,
with friends, with joie de vivre, with a red dress.
I barely know you, but still I love you.
At least, I love the idea of you.
I'm smart enough not to believe my heart,
but wise enough to think the world of you.
I say too much, but my eyes bespeak true,
for you live life as your heart's work of art.