Last.

She danced with him on a Saturday night
a love

that seemed so right
a love
so blind, of hidden desires
closer to that
of mine. A love,
that lasted all night, but
burning out by the coming
of the morning light.
“Come dance with me”, she says to him,
a faded memory of a wanderer’s dream.
All is good, though it may seem,
but soon to come
a memory of what was
and what has been.

Skin on skin,
Attention due and paid,
“How about another dance?”

your hand in mine
a moment in time

All but too late.
Nothing left to be said
void of opportunity
hopes of a second date.

As the night fades to day
in my bed, you lay
except, you’re not there
but I suppose, well,
fair is fair.

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