Deck me in white and take my hands in your cold grasp with public approval of what my worth won’t reap unless you say those words.
They are waiting to hear you say it. Sincerely, loudly, eyes fixated on mine, with burrowed adherence to performances that tickets swell for when performers are golden in lighted splendor.
They want you to sweep me off our feet with sweet promises of what forever really means in moments that last as long as mental dictation runs out of room.
Poised witnesses in orange-silk, slink into wooden chairs of painted silver; calculating, waiting, wondering, assessing manner of lies from lips sunken in quotes of saints, that will burn after the vows of infinity wither into crust.
Carry me into the sprawling hall that is prepared for traffic. You have made a dishonest woman out of me, and the only way to celebrate our loss is to kick up the heels that will soon be indented in wooden slabs of regret.
Warm fixtures of light condense the palatable ambiance of bedazzled deceit, that sways the indulgence of party favors, carving out shapes of wide-length tables with cloths attaching spectators to melodious anthems.
Dancing, singing, eating, drinking while choking on society’s rite of passage in the shadows of loudness. In the presence of gouged eyeballs is the gorging of truths that keep monogrammed confections fresh for the night’s distance.
Will you marry me?
The setting is set, and the crown of jewels that die after midnight is worth more than the rejection that will save us both.