Nothing Was Like
The Bones, they met me at the door,
All graciousness in Masque.
The Dust, it offered me a sip,
From its hip button flask.
The Bones, they shewed me handsomely,
Around the ball so bright;
All phantom-wise the couples were,
Who bit each other tight.
But Nothing were the gorgeous silks,
Nothing, could be as fair,
As the way She had done up high,
With Nothing, Her mussed hair.
I tipped my smoking hat to Her,
She did not even blink,
I bowed so very, very low,
That I felt my Heart sink.
I offered Her my hand, but She
Stirred not, save her queer Smile,
‘You mad thing’ I declared to it,
And watched her lips awhile…
…bloodied at the door, a moment before
I’d entirely lost Her sight,
Her tiny hand high, she waved soft goodbye,
With a handkerchief made out of light.
Then, clouds did not drift ‘cross the sky,
But floated down toward me,
So that there was no space between,
The clouds, and me, and She.
And when they pressed down on our breasts,
Smothering us by Light,
There was no thought ‘twixt we, and You,
For Nothing was so like.
Copyright © Amanda Schaar | Year Posted 2018
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