I'm sitting at a wooden desk
A quill in a *** as black as pitch
And with feathers as soft as sea water
The desk with peeling white paint
Has drawers
With crooked silver sconces
To hold the candle stumps
At night, as I write
I use parchment, not paper
Stroking the rough, grainy surface of it
Waiting for my fingers to go numb
In front of me a window
Of warped and misty glass
But I throw it open to feel the air
As its wafts, heavy and salty
Past the curtains I've hung there
And clings to my face and neck
I pretend I am the sea
Clasping the quill in my hand
Freshly dipped into its ***
I write in thin, twisting letters
I imagine they are grape vines
Twisting through an orchard
Fat with grapes
Purple from the sunrise
And these letters make words
So sweet
I can almost taste the wine on my tounge

Unforgettable... the lyrics of Nat K. Cole play through my head.....
if only i could have seen her walk down the isle to that song....to my dad....to what was supost to be a commitment...
I start to choke up and my eyes get blurred from the tears, violently approaching my weary eyes..
I wish i would have seen it. i wish i could have watched everyone rise from their seats, as my mother took her graceful, sol-um steps down the isle to her beloved....
i wish i could have seen his astonished face, with teary eyes from being swept away by her beauty.... Unforgettable....