(Washington Post - photo by J. Lester Feder)
They weren’t good dancers
But swayed and careened and fell in each other’s arms -
Laughing, cackling her freshly manicured nails digging into his suit -
Her painted eyebrows angled in a joyous anguish – laugh with me -
They said – lie to me they said because
At least the laughter wasn’t silence -
The laughter wasn’t what was going to be said later
In private – the end – snuffed out like a blackened, curling wick
Snagged artfully – a single strand in the fabric
Never the same again – a harsh word
A forgotten truth shared than thrown back
In the fantasy’s face – never the same again.
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