regarding an old picture. (rough draft)

[explodingboy]

The monument was gone so you stood in its place.
At home, alone, the real world was reduced to rubber and salt,
smiling, thin-lipped, and counting the days.
I held onto my daydream and gently felt its softness,
its artificial comfort, its borrowed warmth.
An old couple walked by, holding hands, and watched us.
I snapped your picture and laughed;
did they know the truth?
Maybe they'd seen it before. Maybe they could see into my mind,
a dark room, sleepy music,
you in a white dress and black shoes,
and me, lying on my back, reaching toward you,
and with one finger feeling cold, hard wood.