Dust dances on the airless sunbeams
moving from frame to frame against
the panes of the divided window.
Here, the dead years have been frozen;
Corsets and bloomers stacked in the armoire,
dried petals suspended in the air like a snapshot
while roses on teacups bloom forever.
Antiquity wafts from yellowed books,
darted with silverfish, pages silent.
The word has been vanquished,
forgotten voices cursed and choked.
A mannequin poses smoothly.
The room sighs vacant and
solemn like a deserted bride,
a spoiled treasure unopened.
The forgotten years are withering away.
Spiders consummate in the corner.
The groom is consumed and
ghosts hum in the gathering dusk.