My hands around yours.

Circlets of gold on our fingers,

That which we could never afford.

Standing statuesque as the lens snaps-

A portrait still as life.

And so, we remain entombed on our mantle.

I remember that day so fondly.

Satin confectionaries, silken gowns,

The rain awaiting its timely arrival with bated breath…

And a vow. Till death do us part.

Sealed with a kiss of hot wax,

Emblazoned with a ring round as your curious eyes.

I remember even now,

My hands around yours.

Circlets of gold on our fingers,

Now frail and old.

Your life has faded now, this I know,

As I stare into those wide, glassy eyes.

For the last time.

I believe our vows were lies.

Death will nigh part us,

Even if the hand that you took in betrothment

Must slash at its own neck to find yours again.