The bride wears crimson

[Set somewhere in Syria…]

With a smile he welcomes her
In a solitary heartbeat he bids us farewell

As his eyes close
Wrapped in his erubescent mantle
He anticipates her touch

Sleek and slender are her hands
Soft and cool to the touch
Inescapable is their grasp

No music serenades this nuptial
And the recessional is shrill
Subsumed in our stentorian applause: Allahu-Akbar!
We care not

Under the watchful gaze of the effulgent Sun
The crimson bride departs without a word
No time for valedictions

That we know not when we will see her again
Or her beloved; matters not
Only that we will – of that we are certain.

To be wearing crimson on that day
The sum of all our desires.

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