Saturday, 16 August 2008

A Last Dance

I’m so

He came not wearing black but
dressed as lover’s

would; finery to pleasure.

My drought watered as on
a first lover’s glance
and kiss. Now my last.

He holds my hand while nurse
shakes me out of my
long sleep in the white night.

I’m so ready for our dance.

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This blog was inspired by First 50 words where you freewrite from a single word prompt. I use random words or images to create flash fiction in formats ranging from twitter postcards to short short stories.