She matched in black
Her pony slicked back
As I watched her clear her plate
Her tongue swollen to muffled sounds
My fingertips rubbed at my tragus
Yet still nothing but nonsensical noises
She appeared so alive
The sight bittersweet
My heart warmed but sank into my stomach
Was it God or that Devil,
Knee deep in Bordeaux
Who swims the circumference of a hock?
If God were a good man
My faith would not be uncertain.
Perhaps her strength was too lacking to live
But upon a bed she lay,
As do I when I close my eyes,
Her audience draped in all black
As was she
As she cleared that plate
In a state that seemed so tangible
That I reach for her hands
Clad in gold rings
Left to me in her remembrance
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