1
A heavy stringed intro,
a dress laced with a melancholic trim,
faltering steps in ill-fitting shoes.
I am not used to dancing backwards:
you lead, I follow, not
matching your surefootedness.
Let me be the one to say it:
Un-break the charm,
recant the spell,
un-drink the potion,
claw back the days.
We are out of time.
2
We come into life
reeling towards the last waltz
and with each revolution
I come closer, a whirling dervish:
ecstatic and blissful
in the not knowing.