SOMETHING WHITE
April 13, 2007
© Fred Dumpling. Redistribution is prohibited.
A clear sky stretches flawless overhead,
with whipped cream trails tracing where we've flown.
We lay under the cotton candy trees
in memory of the minutes that we've known
and lock our fingers tight in an embrace
with messages no passersby could guess
exchanged through the sweet stillness of our lips.
The leaves and petals fall on my white dress.
The blue of sunny days beckon above
for us to venture up hills rich with gold
and sit on their peaks of yesterday's green
to reminisce our fantasies of old.
Then lips, descend upon me for a kiss,
and hand, ascend for a loving caress.
You leave me with a promise on that hill,
where I am waiting still in my white dress.
The clouds roll in and rains threaten to fall.
Their shadows creep upon my troubled bench
and chill me through and through my flimsy wear
and do not cease till I'm thoroughly drenched.
I finally rise to descend the hill,
where I'd that day appeared my very best
for you, who've left me desolate and down,
and yet for you, I still wear my white dress.
The news comes when the the heavens have turned dark
and only serve to turn them darker still,
and floods that had been stirring in their wombs
break free to cascade over windowsills
and fill the house of me with all their grief
and cleanse the empty corners of your mess,
but waters subside to leave you in me.
My love, our tears are soaking my white dress.