half the contents of a forgotten pocket

Folded into a tear stained hanker chief and tucked into a forgotten pocket lies a graveyard. The pearly smog rolls over the gravestones like a sea of melancholy, half condensed tears and split milk. Dawn does not sing but sigh, her eyes are drooped and grey. Her breath shudders through the trees, sending their leaves pirouetting, their crunch like a siren's song to the misanthrope. Below the glass tipped grass lies an empty coffin. A bell chimes the song of heartbreak. the sea captain's body is down down down, lying in between the great whale's ribs as they  bend into a cathedral of sorts (but then again only Jonah would really know). A slow waltz still rings in the sea captain's corroding ears, it still quivers there, playing like a broken record over the voices of mermaids and whales (they slip like cold silk into his tomb).

The sea captain's dreams are haunted by a ship's worth of frozen shoes, left motionless on the black water's crystalline face, the icebergs have bitten the dance out of their molded soles. Now only the icebergs waltz in time with the music, mocking him, like sugar cubes that will not dissolve into his milky tea. They continue swirling as his eyes slowly rot.

The snow has covered the world with glitter and lace and quilts and snowflakes that look like shooting stars as they fall from the sky. I feel like I am in one giant blanket fort or exploring Narnia (I think I heard the trees whispering). It is all so magical: Snow ball fights in bed; spinning around like snowflakes; and rose buds blooming on cheeks and noses.

The snow kissed our bare feet as we danced, making them blush. 

Last night our eyes grew dizzy with delight, and as we spin we tumbled again and again into the white velvet quilts of snow (Our eyelashes became covered in a crystalline lace of snowflakes). Alexei came to dance with Anastasia, Tatiana, Maria and Olga too, their pink palms met ours and our hearts started pounding;flying round and round like snow doves. The world joined in too, pirouetting. Even when our feet stopped the world kept on dancing, (everything was far too lovely to stand still). But the Romanov children danced on and away into the cold Russian air (second star to the right, and straight on til' morning), the snow molded into little white rabbits and they skipped into the sky, they flew next to Anastasia's ankles. 

I am so very happy