The doors closed, both parties
were inside. The alcohol
in his flask grew warm.
He was there when they
arrived. Tux’s and dresses
all the same secondary.
They looked happy.
The street grew quiet,
he couldn’t stop staring
at the bells above,
hoping
hoping they won’t ring.
Hoping the doors would
burst open.
The white gown flowing,
in your trails,
sour cries from inside hushed
from the past left in her wake.
Alone, wanting, the dream he
wished for, masked the
sound the clanging bells.
