taffeta and lace

 

Seven vows most sacred, I wore pink taffeta and lace

fire flamed in a designer glow, you looked sharp, ornate crest emblazed

Stepping into everafter, the portico blossoming sacred with chants and marigold

brimming hope, my father gave my hand into your palm to hold

Appendage like on your right, the first circle of trust complete

promise of health and household should not feel such a burdensome feat

Shuffling along in tune with the second narration

my fingers laced cold against your palm, an uncanny insinuation

The third circle was dedicated to righteous wealth

my lace snagged on your gold, did I feel it tighten like a nooze, of death?

My heart pumped, we were in the middle

the fourth message was harmony, your eyes met mine like a riddle

I knew the fifth, sixth, seventh vows were a never

pompous demands.imbecile assurances.your nervous tremor

where and when had it become such an endeavor

Let the seismic play, the planets, the dates, and stars

rotate backward, undo the scars

My pause to our hesitant music, let us nurse a thoughtful convalescence

your choice needs to be surgical, the warts you deal with are obviously extraneous

I desire, someday to complete my unfinished vows, in their essential quintessence

silence now will chafe our patience, lessons with stumbling starts are trickier to discern