Work Text:
Heels in a Museum
The clicking on the marble sea;
We wander by the art.
I grab her hand, she looks at me
And knows she holds my heart.
We wander through the marble sea,
Through years and years we stroll.
We pass by statues, murals, yet
My eyes stray to the wall.
The clickings on the marble pause,
And now we stop to stare.
The golden, reddish hues in frame
Remind me of her hair.
Chrysanthemums, the strokes are leaves,
A view of years to come.
She turns her head and I can’t breathe,
My heart begins to drum.
She knows she holds my heart in hers
And will for many years.
The house, the keys, the flow’ring hats,
I know that one day nears.
We pull away, make one last glance,
Our feet begin to stir.
No matter where we’re looking next,
I’m always drawn to her.
The clickings start, we walk down stairs
To gardens and sunset.
Of flowers, to Chrysanthemums
I’ve not seen a match yet.
She clears her throat, I look to her,
Our hands still clasped and tight.
The fading sun sets and her hair
Is glowing in the light.
“I’m glad you came with me today,
What was your favorite part?”
I could not find the words to say
That it was not the art.
A moment passes and I see
Her face begin to fall.
“The painting of Chrysanthemums
We stopped by in the hall.”
My words were rushed but they were true.
We finally reach our stop,
Her motorcycle’s fading blue.
“They sell those in the shop”
She seems confused, her face a frown.
I hate seeing that form.
“It just reminded me of you”.
Her face turns soft and warm.
She revs the engine; we get on.
Her helmet’s platinum,
The color is all that I see
Of my Chrysanthemum.