old lovers hell bent
would have us dress in mourning clothes
.
for them
our dead love
they will never accept
our rejection of black
.
it is an abyss
a futile endeavor
tulip bulbs planted in drying cement
unable to blossom
.
no, no
we must never yield to this
.
as it is my nature
to move forward
grow toward the sunlight
moving my body
.
swaying salome
.
swooning to the music
.
the beauty of life in every note
whilst performing
.
the dance of the seven veils