Bouquet

There is something about that photograph

that was always strange.

The bouquet on a chair burgeoning blossom and lace

fading artfully into white space.

The couple in silhouette

elongated by the lens

are two ghosts set

behind.

Was it a portend, a prophecy unnoticed.

The love lavish trappings

were at centre stage, romantic and living large,

but the pair floated on a listless barge,

not quite real, not

tangible.

They lived in soft focus, always three metres apart

from solid happiness.

The chair now empty, flowers pressed in a book.

A photo memory of the things we mistook

for lasting love.

That space between

A chair

and us.

(Missed the deadline for the negative space challenge)