Sterile white cast a sharp sillhouette
Againt burgundy--
That swam with shadowy velvet
And creamy blurs of silk
Each so like a soft brush stroke
Save for that sterile white
In its clean geometry;

And the carpet installed short and durable
By hopeful design it would last
Through years of dance-worthy occasions
Ballroom turf bled into my hiding place
Stippling my palms pink
As my weight shifted

And I leaned into the wafting scents
Of ladies' perfumes and catered delicacies
Every time the table cloth rippled
Out of fear or respect from passerby

Even shimmied with the clinking of glasses
Above the dull congratulatory murmur of guests
Later they would all be drunk
And murmur would turn to ruckus
But then, only indistinguishable voices

Too they were far away, drifting almost
Enough
I imagined nothing but that white
Sterile still, pure
And matrimonially sweet
The tiny bride and groom testifying from atop

But a plan was already in motion
To hide and wait;
The waiting was done
So young, as I was
Finding nothing so sacred I couldn't soil it
Found the oppurtunity to touch my tongue to it
That white, I wouldn't say sterile
But oh so sweet.