The Weakened Dance

Memories of those dances
and the distant foggy nights
haunt the souls that connected
and departed with vicious, vindictive fights.

After the dances
Ivory dreams fade to beige
and broken hearts
are placed gently back into their cage.

Moon matching moods
take their toll;
and when the music stops
both return to their role.

She smokes too much
a fact she knows;
it's how she faces the world
and snubs her nose.

He sets a stage
no actor can fill;
his ardent hope
one day, one will.

Again they departed
with too much yet not enough said;
and she lingered in her kitchen,
then the living room, before collapsing into bed.

Melancholy sobs
brought rain to the streets.
And she arose quite quickly
not wanting to be alone in those barren sheets.

Upon the mantle, she spied a note
next to a small token.
He had jotted down words
cowardly left unspoken.

She lit a cigarette
with the shiny new lighter
and turned on a lamp
to make inside a touch brighter.

"We can dance
the weekend dance
but it becomes
the weakened dance."

With that, the rain was matched
with salty tears
"What," she cried
"has become of my lost years?"

Outside her door
he still stood,
contemplating a knock again, to come in
but he didn't think he should.