whenever I walk past
the tailor shop.
The magnificent display—
that white wedding dress,
fit perfectly on you.
From the seams and stitches of the bodice,
the neckline—modest, yet enough,
the sleeves that framed your shoulders,
all the way to your tiny, beautiful arms—
made your skin seem more pristine than silk.
Down to the sash and the waistline,
that made all else seem unworthy;
the skirt, the hem, the edge—
as if you were made to float
beneath a moon-pondered sky.
Oh! But let’s not forget the veil—
that one last time,
will hide you as not mine.
Everything—
even the tiniest bit of detail—
As if all the wedding dresses
on Earth and in the heavens
were crafted just for you.
And I can see no one else
but you wearing it.
If only I were the man
to be wed to you.
If only
this weren’t all
a fairy tale.
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