Love Is Seemingly Out Of The Question

I was very much impressed By her floral dress When we met In the empty church By the votive alter, But I was mystified And my soul distressed By her pale and melancholy face; I was certain I saw it before In an ancient wedding From another lifetime Or restful in a casket. She can’t be What she currently pretends, A stranger or anonymous friend Willing to extend her thin hand Without preconditions Too difficult to comprehend. I stared at her For a minute eternity The way someone does When they’re in love with you Or seek your execution But then I felt the anchor-like weight Of her heartfelt reproach And disciplined my eyes. I was surprised And smiled When she scraped Some latent thought Beneath the surface Of my mind and said, “I would make love to you tonight, But you would want my bracelet Or some other keepsake As if the perfume of my essence Wasn’t sufficient for your memory.”