abandoned at the alter--
or just abandoned.
I have nothing to hold on to
except the tatters
of this deceased
laced satin, this crumpled
veil, covering hope and covering light.
one shoe, its matching partner had scuffs to
begin with--what a fraud.
white is supposed to be the color of new beginnings
and black is for funerals--
but I guess white is the new black,
I'm left to fend by myself, nothing
to celebrate--
the cake was too pretty to be eaten
anyway.

and don't you know it,
we're all in our wedding dresses,
looking abstractly at broken watches,
dust-filled corners,
waiting for the groom
that will never
come.

Feel the red curtain,
The night opens a discreet picture
That still chirps about the burned-down marching band
We can no longer forget.

Your eyes still speak of
    The boys in the black attire
    Girls in wedding dresses
    Abandoned mother in the perfume of war
    Wearing masks of serendipity
That were consumed by the flimsy fire

And talk of the devil,
Talk of the leader,

His dark eyes were set ablaze
And his heart on his sleeve
Half eaten out
The parade, though, kept marching along
With its beautiful brides and paper snow
In the dark and discreet night

I could not wake
The romance they inflincted
Between us who knew none of each other
But the ode I will be sending to your most loved parade no longer
Will never reach anyone neither carcasses nor night masses

So what will we get from our early midnight memory
We confronted before the sun went down?
   The songs chanted with death’s drum rolls
   The steps taken with dwarfed soles and melted eyes
   Or the love you could not relish for the boys in the black attire
                                                          ­           Girls in wedding dresses
                                       Abandoned mother in ******* serendipity
                                      Or for the marching band
                               That will never pass us again?

And here I lie,
But they bring memories like a festival
Under the moonlit night
Presenting the illness of romance between life and death

And here I love you,
My visions of the discreet night
The parade of the wrong and right
My carcass of the burning life
We try to live upon a single stroke
Of two-faced departure

And here you love me,
As only
A parade of paradox
Unforsaken

I want to whisper your name into my lungs.
Feel you sink into my nostalgia.
Because, It always comes down to "Where have you been all my life?"
My inner child screams, tears rushing down her innocents, that "It's not fair!"
My angst worn teen just rolls her eyes with her broken heart and Jane Austin hands.
My old woman hums "Love like there is no age."

Because it doesn't matter now, I can't see myself without you.
Ever...

And wedding dresses are all we have in common.
They hold so tightly that every moment stays interlaced in their very existence.
They will always have that one happy day.
One day that blends and binds they day after,
and the next,
and the next,
and the forever.

All tied with a white string.

Because red strings are too bold for your skin to bleed into.
So, I'll tie a white one around my wrist, so every time life looks down,
a wedding is all I see.
A wedding with you and me.
An alter with candles and flowers, on top of a hill.
We walk up like Jack and Jill.
But I have already tumbled after you, head over heals.

Love isn't a strong enough word.
Love is used by poets, authors, musicians.
No,
I live for you,
I live for you,
I live for you,
and I'll say it every time I breath your name into my lungs.