Thursday Gloom

in a pastel colored dress

Photo by http://unsplash.com/Liana Mikah on Unsplash

On a Thursday, I receive
a dress within a box.

— A gloomy foretelling —

On the hem,
butterflies fly on the seams.
The dress sweeps the carpet’s green velvet in a smooch kiss;

The sleeves hit the floor in a slack courtesy paying homage to the frills beneath — invoking a pastel colored Cinderella in our living room swishing the train in a demure waltz.

Picture me beside you, will you?

Your hands hold me — and I match my rhythm to that of your orchestra.
I clutch your gown,
it ripples , like charged waves on a solemn river bank— a gloomy foretelling — frothing, eclipsing my eager hands.

My waltz matches your moves;
I break off, an Olympian diver come up for air, euphoric —

I am Joy, the Brother of Happy Waltzes —then

A harp note on your orchestra stops short — you play on: a melody on a high — unaware of the conductor crumpling,

the audience of one — watching you charge the room with an untimely climax —

I am Sadness, the Brother of Gloom.

Picture me beside you, will you?

Holding your hands,
holding your eyes,
willing your legs to move in this dress I receive on a Thursday afternoon in a box.

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