The Woman In My Picture

I see her sitting there in pink and I think, No wit now, none of those clichéd phrases will fit. She is not like a crushed flower, not a Broken vessel; neither is she a damsel in distress. I do not need to charge to her rescue. She smiles beyond me past my overtures. She is no siren, either. I hear her voice in my dreams – no overtures - but a smile with no thought of me. I’ve framed her world; she in my frame sits, the Queen of Hearts, the picture that says a thousand words, the words that never call to me; call to me.