Lament the couple
dancing
promenading
through the garden path.
Footsteps
bleeding like ink to page
scrawling
a love note on the dance floor.
Their
chests pressed like flowers
between
pages of the Bible.
Nipples
nestled like roses
pink
petalled and full bloomed
flattened
in the folds.
The
quiver of his hand on her waist
plucking
the ties of her corset strings.
Bodice
humming like a concert harp
music
purring from her bones.
Little
do they know
her
breasts are burial mounds,
womb
an empty tomb,
her
heart a strangled band of brass,
flat
noted and off key.
Her
song is a requiem fading,
a
dirge not meant for dancing
through
a garden of dried flowers
where
naught is likely to grow.
Lament
the couple dancing
the
endless circles spun
fruitless
pull of romance
a
love that can’t be won.
No comments:
Post a Comment