it’s easy for him to say ‘it isn’t vanity’
when he knows someone out there
is getting paid.
and maybe if he angles it just right,
adjust the brightness of the backdrop
moves his elbow out so the camera catches
a golden sunrise of daffodils
their adoring faces stretching to the horizon;
maybe someone else will fall in love as he has,
as quick and deep as drowning.
he tucks a flower behind his ear.
his therapist says it’s a
‘cluster b personality disorder,’
whatever that means,
but he knows he’s too pretty
to return to therapy:
the proof is in the tilt of his hand
and the hundredth snap of the shutter.