I used to want company on this dusty hardwood floor,
Surrounded by bottles of whiskey,
Lights turned low.
Now I fantasize of twirling
In the lonesome presence of Death,
And remembering.
Because dancing with his ghost
Is better than the company of
A million strangers of flesh and blood.
He remembers the steps,
I remember his heartbeat.
Wednesday, January 25, 2012
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