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210109-old-camera

 

The clicking of the camera shutter
pulses in tandem with the beating
of my heart. Every opening, closing
and re-adjusting of the shutter
makes my blood run hotter. My cheeks
deepen in color until I am the perfect
cover girl, all lips and cheeks and eyes.
My curls cascade upon the wind, pulled
upward by Aphrodite. The camera is the
only device that can capture me
at my most radiant. It lassoes
my perfect self and reigns me in–
so I can visit myself on rainy days
and Christmas.

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