A Wedding In White
He buried his face in her. At first gently. Naked his muscles rippled in the morning light. He was beautiful. She was beautiful and he held her as if she were the last raindrop that would ever fall.
In the white of the stone. In the hand of their creator. Her dress flowed like, sat like, curled like silk. Her face spoke even in the stillness of her passing. His body, his presence yelled of a passion unharnessed.
Death by the poison of a venomous snake and you know we all die like this by the hand of a heartless serpent even if by happenstance but still the sculpture painted romance painted love. Screamed into the eyes of the beholder if not for love then what?
22~12~2014
Maurice Yvonne
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