A poem about a dream about a photograph.

Coveted and covered;
your hair and your smile
remind me of my mother.
Blood flowed and the colours
soothed and shocked,
returned to monochrome.
Transfixed by tasks
in a dead heat.
Bare arms and dark cloth
tangled in the dead faint.
Powdered with chalk.
Cracked, black, skyline behind,
a future runs, fast forward
and points to the bone structure
that you bequeathed to me.
The look, I once saw as my own,
was thrown to the unseen man,
who, you could tell was pleased by
the small waisted bow that you tied.
The cracks in the porcelain bowl,
opened and the colours ran.