Death of a Diorama, Circa 1937

One night,

just inside the red velvet curtain of an American photobooth

we invented pain

you and I

---there were no harbingers in the weather on the boardwalk

at least I didn't think so

until you grabbed my face and brushed your lips against mine

and the mingling of our breaths reminded me that we wouldn't live forever

and that portraits were not the antidote to infinite sadness

---perhaps its origin of sorts

and with seconds left to smile,

I thought of one day parallel to this---

someday

when one of us would be the inheritor of this connect four