Wedding Dance
What guile is this, that crimson dress unfolds
over skirt of ivory, petticoat of lace,
and white gloves conceal smoothness untold,
and innocence frames such a charmed face?
For months, we rehearse at furious pace,
waltzing in jeans, drenched in sweat.
There's hardly a trace of poise or grace
and dismayed, I begin to forget
why, why this labor? why this haste? Yet
the moment you appear, epiphany breaks,
your face radiant as the day we met,
and joy washes away the months of aches.
Do you take me for this dance?
Do you take me for romance?
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