I have been kissing your dusty ghost again, sucking on that dry, parchment paper tongue, looking through your sockets and holes, slow dancing with your rickety skeleton while the bones clatter like dull wind chimes no one would bother hanging.
I wish you would look at me the way I’m staring at you. Yes, it’s true, I’m a little loopy on Cabernet, maybe hallucinating some, picturing you in white, stepping on that too-long train your mother tried to convince you not to wear. But you look ravishing again, my one and only bride.
In a moment, we’ll cut the cake, each of us with one hand clasped over the spatula, slicing careful so as to miss the miniature bride and groom. I’ll smear the pedal of a frosting rose on your nose, lick it off quick, but your father will notice and shoot me a disapproving look.
But for now, let’s just dance, let’s sway. It’s been too long since I’ve held you like this.
Step in. Step closer. The hole in the back of your skull hasn’t healed, that’s okay. It never will, so
I cover it with my palm and place your head on my shoulder, gentle as a newborn.
Let everyone gawk if they want. They don’t know you’re not dead. They don’t know we’ve got a full night, a full life ahead of us. Only I know that.
Len Kuntz is a writer from Washington State and the author of four books, the most recent the story collection This Is Why I Need You forthcoming from Ravenna Press in the fall of 2018. You can also find him at lenkuntz.blogspot.com