poem: pink dress – 06/04/22

Conspiring melodies,
tongue-in-cheek parodies,
beginning to recall memories,
shove them down,
place myself at ease.

Jilted rhythms,
a sonata heaves and breathes,
escaping the melancholy,
Dear, there seems no end to these.

I waltz through artwork,
it is my time,
my time to spit forth images,
not rhymes,
that was a dragging tune that brought itself
to harken my ears,
enough to resolutely accept,
enough of the feigned prowess, remember,
always remembering,
who you were before that pink dress.

(c) 2022 Lauren M. Hancock  Poetry and Prose. All rights reserved.
Image from Pixabay.