I remember lace —
how it whispered down my spine,
how it clung like a promise
just before it frayed.
I remember music,
a waltz on the wind,
and the way my name
sounded sweeter
when he was near.

They said it was fate.
They said I was lucky.
They never said
he’d run.

The earth was cold
when I fell into it,
not from grace—
but from a man
who knew how to smile
while slipping poison
in a glass of hope.

Always the bridesmaid,
never the bride—
until I became one,
wrapped not in joy
but in silence.

I didn’t walk down an aisle.
I was carried.
Petals didn’t fall;
they rotted.
The bells didn’t ring;
they echoed.

And so I stayed.
In bone and lace,
in a dress made of dust,
a heart stitched shut
so it wouldn’t feel
the beat it lost.

Years passed.
Centuries, perhaps.
Love is timeless,
they say.
But grief?
Grief is patient.
It waits
in the folds of your veil.

Then—
he appeared.
Not the one who broke me,
but the one who saw through me.
Through hollow eyes,
through silent sighs,
through the way my fingers
trembled
when he spoke.

He didn't run.
He didn’t promise either.
But he listened.

And for a moment—
a heartbeat I could almost hear—
I was alive again.
Not in flesh,
but in something softer.
Something that felt
like a maybe.
Like a might-have-been.

But the living
must belong to the living.
And I?
I belong to the soil.
To stories forgotten.
To songs no one sings anymore.

So I stepped aside.
With grace I never had in life.
I let go—
of the dream,
of the dress,
of him.

Because sometimes,
the kindest kind of love
is the kind
that says goodbye.

Still…
as the wind brushes
through my empty chest,
and the stars refuse to warm me,
I wonder—

Tell me, my dear...
how can a heart still break
once it has stopped beating?

There she lies curled on a cold concrete slab
Eviscerate midsection gushing blood
And her face and clothes are ***** and drab
Ruinated thoroughly with thrown mud

Sometimes I wonder if we're wielding rage
In service to the worship of our self
Never realizing our flaws and their wage
Tucked them away on an overlooked shelf

Hearing her husband's heart-weary crying
Ever we play the unsatisfied spouse
Villains pursuing which leaves love dying
Ever we plot to be first in the house

I guess you're right as I stare at the floor
Left gut-stabbed, she can't hurt us anymore

O ladybird, lend me ur heart.
Sigh heavily and blow the cobwebs from my brain;
Unwind us both until we undo ourselves to the very start.
Dry me from your torrid rain.

Ladybird, O ladybird,
I’ll bleed over your feet
And stickily paint my lips
In the name of your grace

So loving it descries and so nonchalantly unforgiving and relentless

My ladybird, O ladybird

Crawling nails thru my hair like scratched steel, spotty from the outset, femme-fated accent

Ladybird in her own image;

  Arm outstretched, palm bent up facing,
O ladybird, my ladybird…

Oh Jesus Christ

The mountains skip like rutting rams;
        The turtledove is cooing soft;
                Like fleecy lambs,
The floating cloudlets freely frolic far aloft;
    The fruiting fig tree offers figs; the vine
            Grows grapes prepared to wine;
    The wedding bed is green; and wedded life
Begins for Jesus Christ, the Son of Man, and Wife.

Th'angelic quire has tun'd each voice
        To one accord and thusly make
                A joyful noise
Sweeter than angel food (or fairground funnel) cake.
    The birds and bees of Heav'n are in the mood
            For love; the day's as good
    As good could ever be; and every life
That here is bearing witness loves the Man and Wife.

Dearly belovèd bride—betroth'd
        No more—enjoy your faith's reward!
                Gorgeously cloth'd
In modest chastity you only could afford
    By making daily sacrifices, Queen
            Of queens—whose vast demesne
    Is Paradise—you fit the crown of life
More than a conqueror through Him who loves His Wife.  

Glory to God who gave to man
        Woman, that they should be one flesh
                And share one span
Of life, who made the groom and bride, who now enmesh,
    Eternal, and who gives away the bride
            Unto the Son who died
    For her, yet rose to resurrected life,
That they could live forevermore as Man and Wife.

No greater love has man than this:
        To lay his life down for his friends.
                In wedded bliss
The Lord who died for us, whose will nor breaks nor bends,
    His countenance more fair than Lebanon,
            Shall hereby henceforth, on
    And on, through time eternal, share one life
With her, His bride, through endless time as Man and Wife.

Lord Christ is God, and God is love,
        And God is love in overplus.
                Come from above,
By lovingkindness, Jesus Christ is love with us.  
    Rivers of living water (Christ's love) flow
            And floating gardens grow.
    The way, the truth, the love, the light, the life
Of men and women, Christ with love will sate His Wife.  

The father of the bride and groom
        Blesses the current new good news:
                Th'eternal bloom
That is this rose of Sharon shall not fade nor lose
    The savour of its fragrant blossoms white,
            Pink, purple, blue, red, blight-
    Untainted, perfect as the spotless life
That lives within this Man and now His spotless Wife.

One life, one love, one soul, one house
        One home, one spirit, by God's grace
                To spouse and spouse
Belong, provided to the bride who sought God's face.
    The Lord provides; the bride no dowry brings.
            With eager hands she clings
    His hands in hers, and holding onto Life,
The man and woman mix their lives as Man and Wife.  

The truelove bride of Christ (the one
        Good man and perfect alpha male)
                Shines like the sun
And puts the happy ending on the Hero's tale.
    All that is good and great and true and fair
            Are present in the pair
    That here embarks upon a wedded life
Still to remain for one forever Man and Wife.

The veil is lifted.  See, O see
        The comely bride who is no more
                A bride-to-be!
The sacred rite perform'd, O come let us adore
    Him and His help meet.  Bless the Lord, my soul,
            My soul, O with your whole
    Heart! and rejoice! for Love an endless life
Possesses, all is right, and you're the Goodman's Wife!

The bride: a present

in tulle, the veil that reveals --


her love all the more.

The beautiful bride for the world prepared,
by Europe's colonial powers divided.
Her priceless worth was seen and hardly spared;
hence the need to woo her was decided.
Two great superpowers made their advances,
as she danced before their lustful glances.
Now she's wooed by none other than the Chinese;
who dangle their bread crumbs and putrid cheese;
seeking relentlessly her heart to please.
Africa is no doubt a priceless jewel,
historically contested for by a duel.