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Desdemona Jones

Desdemona Jones dances in a poem
that lingers on the fringes of my mind.
She wore ribbons made of rainbows
in hair softer than the early light of dawn,
and the sweetness of her laughter
echoed in the hallways of my memory
ever after she was gone.

She came into my world.
like a river in the spring time,
like a bright and flaming star,
and took up my every waking hour,
laying down dreams that will last forever,
filling up every empty place within my mind.

We met on a summer evening,
in a park down near the ocean,
and the sea added its own drum beat
to the music and the laughter of the wind.

I asked her to dance in the moonlight.
She smiled as she told me
that she preferred to dance alone,
and that her name was Desdemona Jones.

She was as slender as a willow.
Softer than the down of a thistle.
As beautiful as flowers in the spring.
But she is just a memory
that is fading with the twilight
one that clings to the edges
of so many distant yesterdays.

We use to go for coffee
when the rain was falling,
and we’d talk for hours
about the things we planned to do.

She asked me to sing to her
as we walked beside the ocean
but no matter the music I was playing
or the words I that I sang in the rain,
she always found a reason,
no matter the day or the season
to leave half way through my song.

When my heart beats out its last moment
and my final breath fades in the distance
I will be somewhere in a poem,
and as the music is softly playing
I will be dancing, with Desdemona Jones.

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