Death At A Wedding Poem by Kewayne Wadley

Come on,
Let's pretend were married,
If your not busy that is.
Revealing much of ourselves in words yet said.
Kept away in fear of truth.
Let's try on outfits that we'll only wear for a day.
Maybe to the practices at an empty church, hands now filled with each others grasp.
The different parlors and shops that await our presence,
The off beat styles of dresses that hang low, tucked neat.
Some old, new.
Curious to which one highlights your smile the best.
The bland style of black tuxedos
Overpriced, soon to deprecate with the first deep sigh taken.
While watching you smile and grin.
Holding a memory to look back on.
Visualizing you in the perfect white dress.
We'll have fun visiting various wine tastings.
Eyes now low as the pitch of our laugh has gotten higher.
Taste testing contrary cakes.
Deciding between the vanilla marble or the chocolate something that we're both too drunk to pronounce.
Best friends lost in the amount of time spent day to day,
Catching up on what's new in each others lives.
Maybe the vendor will give us a discount on the account of how cute we look together.
Only if they knew it was just for pretend.
The things we've shared
The in depth conversation of what we keep in our hearts.
Embarrassed moments of Cake icing still surrounding our lips.
The deep questions that fill the space around us.
Still unable to speak deep truths kept from you, wondering
If you've ever thought of me as much as I've thought of you.
The times alone when your presence was truly cherished
The silly things we do when no one is around.
Lip singing our favorite songs in the mirror while no one is around.
Becoming the best in the world by the reflection of our own eyes.
Only if they knew it was just for pretend.
That in actually, two overgrown kids.
That fell in love a long time ago.
Pretending not to see what's right in front of us.
The courage to bring thought to reality in the scent of your perfume.
As the days journey into eternity.
Watching you become someone else's bride
Under the mistletoe of holy matrimony
That should have been us as the bouquet blooms against the wind