A little bit of black

she’s wearing all black, a corset

With purple threading,

Blood red lips and a bit of brown eyeliner to accentuate her green eyes—-

She peers from the large brim of her hat,

He sees her too,

And he’s got that look

That says, “I’m a bit Victorian

But I love your black duds”

He gives her a black rose—

She gives him a violet one,

And gives him a look

That says, “I am

Not that locked up, even

With all my

Chains on my clothes and neck”

And they both seem

To drink in

The feeling of

Being seen.

Really, truly

Seen.

She offers him tea,

He offers her a blood orange,

And they share a haven

And watch a bit of Vincent Price,

Read a lot of

Coraline,

And also, The Ocean At The End of the Lane—

And it turns out

They both have a lot to say

On the topic of paternal alienation

Through their own

Pain—-cut like a knife,

They ease the weight that they carry, invisible—- like toppling rocks that have been

Carried on their shoulders, ready to fall

Yet they haven’t

Due to being

Tied (but every single person, by themselves, by no one/everyone)

Onto their egos

Grappling them loosely yet tight enough to cause

Disintegration of

Their sense of emotional

Integrity.

So, little bit by little bit

They take off one piece of a stone

Off each other,

And soon,

The light shines through—-

Her still in black,

He still in Victorian duds.

She’s always been hacked :

Her poetry slammed off the earth (her sisters scowl and mothers indifference)

And he’s always been stripped :

His stories tossed into Hade’s Underworld (his fathers trash)

And somehow, their different words

Found a place to meet,

Mixing into a symphony

Of brilliant songs and

Places and people and dreams

And horrors

Churning out the most resonant

And integral part to their history

To a bit of consolation.

So they both

Say—Sweetheart,

Let’s go for a stroll,

Have a bit of red added to

Our black garbed droll,

And so

In their first dream

Date

They sold

All their fancy and pretty Merlot,

But he saved a tiny bit of

Old red (a very well preserved bit of gold),

To taste like a bitter toast—

They drank it

From each other’s soul,

A kiss that lasted

Until eternity,

And how it tasted sweet,

Oh so sweet—

To finally have someone with that missing puzzle piece

They needed,

For now they were together,

They felt complete.

A little bit

Of black threaded

With their rose,

A red swirling

Liquid

To encircle

Their trust and cooling

Identity,

It was entirely

A perfect mix

Of goth & Victorian

Black and Red

A little bit of

Entropy

And fate,

To find out that someone could love you

For you,

To be your true friend and best soul mate.