Poetry
Comment 1

A Last Waltz, Rev. 2

Her fingers dance along
The steps of her favorite waltz
Coming to her ears
Floating on a legendary river
She counts: One, Two, Three
And enters her reverie

She sees the soft green eyes
Repeats the dizzy spell
Of a night in her distant past
Rescued by his agility
The strength so subtle
Of a charming dancer
Whose name she forgot

It feels like New Year in Vienna
The images of people in black and white
The angels of her mind
Counting to midnight
On a monumental clock

Their feet glide unencumbered
On the powdered floor
A fine dancer, she thinks
The palm of her right hand
Barely touching his left
Their fingers curling
Towards a desired embrace

If only she could break the rules
But the clock strikes midnight
Her eyes open to the present
Darkness she recognizes
Aches and discomfort
A reality she can evade
Counting: One, Two, Three
To see him, touch him, feel him
Once more
Waltzing into infinity

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1 Comment

  1. Liam Elliott says

    I really like your poetry and this one in praticular. It paints such great imagery and emotion.

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