Ballroom

empty ballroomIn this room recall the days

we cavorted, fox-trotted, cut a rug. We have

left behind painted kisses on glass highballs. And

in this room upturned stools

reveal the frail old lady once genteel. The

brilliance of her lights has died and dust covers her floor.

In this room the mirrors watched like hawks

As we like her have ripened and matured.

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