I paused the first time I saw one of your photographs scrolling through my feed and found myself involuntarily gripping my lips together. What I saw reached a place inside of me only accesible by a ladder of vulnerability. I realized I was viewing the visual representation of what I wanted my poetry to be.
I found myself lurking, but not liking across your IG, for fear I come off like some crazy stalker. Peering into pictures that speak to me – “Create” they whisper. I wondered what were you thinking that made you capture THIS moment. How did you know what I was longing for when I put my pen to a pad?
Your eye for detail and nuance. The way you bend light mirrored the way I want my verbs to blend with nouns and adjectives.
At night, I spread my pages wondering what nuance you might capture if I were your model. Would you want to pose me like you dream of in your deepest fantasies? Bend my body to capture the light bouncing off a dark areola? Me, spread on display full frontal and the first drops glistening? Or me coy, wrapped up in sheets that smell like the most intimate parts of you. Or unexpectedly with whatever happens when we click. Would you chase the likes or the licks?
It made me daydream of people watching with my head in your lap while writing, while your camera lazily takes pictures of those who, as they pass us by, without knowing why, suddenly smile and pose for selfies to stunt for the gram.