fallen verses

She stands across the room.
Alone in a sea of sun lovers,
she worships the moon,
this woman of alabaster.

I am drawn to the
dark gem clasping
the burgundy ribbon
circling her neck.

I understand Romeo then,
“Oh, that I were a glove…”

I long to place kisses,
light as falling dew,
along that line, along that
border between head and heart:

knowing if the heart won,
she would walk away.

I could support the status quo,
endear myself to a state of struggle.
Like a soldier in the trenches
enjoy the simple pleasures:

her eyes, bright;
her hair, sculpted;
her body, a weapon safely
sealed in a burgundy satin sheath.

It would not be suicide,
not exactly, if in drawing
the magnificent blade of her body,
I was fatally cut.

After the toast but before the cake
I will speak to her.
Attempt to draw her, safely,
into my world:

knowing if her head wins,
she will walk away.

Bridesmaid II

I’m thirty, and all my friends are married.
Though I was one of the first (dead man walking)
to recite those vows (dead man…),
I am no longer in that august company.
On a weekend my friends may have said
to their spouses, or my friend’s spouses
may have said to them, “Let’s go to the lake,
get out of town for a few days.”
I was told, “I’m leaving.”
My dating life since then
hasn’t been full so much as nonexistent.
They no longer invite me to the weddings:
turns out when I’m drunk on
champagne and butter-cream frosting
they can’t trust me around the bridesmaids.

Bridesmaid III

When they call for the dance
of the entire wedding party,
I hold out my hand
and lead you onto the parquet floor.
I don’t know the song that is playing,
but it doesn’t matter:
we dance stiffly, formally.
It is appropriate, of course,
(we only just met yesterday)
that your hand rest lightly
on the shoulder of my tuxedo jacket,
and my hand is light on the back
of your dress which is a very “bridesmaid purple.”
I remark how strange it is,
since we’ve known the newlyweds so long,
that we have never met.
You laugh and your eyes sparkle
like rainbows because of the cheap disco ball above.
Not without trepidation, I ask
if you would like to rectify that oversight.
Then your hand rests more comfortably
on my shoulder
and for a moment I envision
the pair of us, in a year or two,
dancing rather closely, intimately,
during the traditional first dance,
and for tonight, at least, you say, “Yes.”