the dance

Tomorrow, when the guests have departed,

the balloons deflated,

and the champagne de-fizzed,

you will sit alone

and contemplate how the years zipped.

But tonight, tomorrow is just a figment,

and with my hand in your sunworn hand,

we twirl round and round,

and I hope that you see:

I’m yours now more than ever,

our eyes, thunderstorm mirrors,

and your heart?

I carry it in my heart.