The Waltz

You were there and I was there but I was not just there I was also here, sleeping in my bed. We were at the waltz, the image is as clear as day, but even days can deceive sometimes, was I in the ballroom dancing to the waltz, dreaming of my days and nights spent rotting in my bed, or was I lying here in my sulking dreaming of dancing with you? But I remember it I remember it so clearly the red banners covering the windows so the rain does not come in but the red reminds us we are not entirely safe. And I remember you. You had a mask on, yes it was a masquerade, you were hiding your face but I recognised the poetry that dances on your swaying hips when music you like begins to play, and I recognised those lips I clung on for days and nights. We danced and you were happy because I saw the shy tooth that only shows in the most earnest of smiles. Now I am sure where I am, I am in my bed, rotting, I have yet not confirmed whether the dance we shared ever occurred but I have no fever and I am not that far gone that I should be seeing my final visions, so maybe, we might have indeed shared a dance after all, in the gorgeous baroque palace dancing in the ball, to a waltz.