I sit
at the photo kiosk,
sort images
to print.

Most are of us.

I choose borders
and matte finish
as our time together
was not glossy.

I change disks,
the order

aborts.

she is uncountable miles away
and now I don’t even have
her picture to touch.

I wonder
as my heart peels
like a stubborn sunburn,
how long until our romance
fades and frays
as the eight by ten
pain in my chest
pines for just one more frame.

At least this way
we cannot smudge our finish,
though I wonder
if an abortion is justified
at this point.

Is twenty-seven days enough time
for a fetus to develop
for a heart to truly beat?

And can you love someone
you have deep inside you
but cannot touch or see?

# # #

Double Prints by Bruce Millar
originally published in the Winter 2011 print edition