12:49 a.m.
monday morn —
bedroom parlour
***
"grant me your first dance
this very eve, my moon."
my smile faltered,
taken by the sweep
of cold anxiety that
hangs in the
bannisters of the
air.
my tongue felt as if
it was clipped — the
knife of the words of
this boy was it's
undoing.
i looked up to my
mother, seeking
for the words i
should choose —
she was still.
no answer.
she wants me to
choose by myself.
"you'd have to ask my
mother's permission."
"i already did, to satisfy
your growing anxiety."
he stood tall. a hand
he beckoned to me.
he is too devious -
i hate it.
i like it.
i'm confused.
he confuses me so.
***
YOU ARE READING
Our Vintage Dance on the Phonograph
Poetry"you and - me, we traversed at the eve of the colossal pages of our bedroom balcony." - excerpt there is no other dancing partner i would dance with other than you, my sun. you bring me to places that are wiped out of history - to the gardens of rui...
