Oh, to be weeping at your side whist your ghost plays piano in an empty Cathedral.
To slow dance with you, your hand holding my spine firmly as I wrap my arms around the perplexed air.
We spin with grace as your ghost plays the soothing melodies of a lovers first dance.
Wind leaking through the stained glass flows between our movements, caressing the two souls that twist with ever growing ecstacy.
And with that last key that rings off of the walls of this ballroom, I spin alone.
The corners of my blackened gown long for me to be still.
The dance of a lifetime shared now becomes one unaccompanied by you.
The howling of the wind matches the mourns of my heart as our melody plays like a broken record in my mind.
A reminder only that you are not here but that you are nearby.
Even in death.
YOU ARE READING
I Have More Than A Perfect Figure
Poetry"Strength, love, suffering and healing. The gritty surface of reality written down on every page. This is a heartfelt message to everyone who can relate to the tragedy of life experiences, trauma and relationships."
