This is an elegy, of sorts, for a bridesmaid that saw no hope, written in the most ancient elegiac way: iambic

sextameter, as the Greeks would have done it. The last lines of the poem are in Iambic Pentamer, which is the classic end-line form. Bride of the Sea Graves Arms raised, self-thrown, the bubbles rise from your despair, tilting side to side, a fairy misbehaving. Overboard, undertow, you say adieu to your beaufrere, no need to scream I'm drowning, not just waving.

Courting death, you cried a small and bemoaned/ lament, always a bridesmaid, courting, never once a bride this is the thing that binds, that one may not repent but in this sorrow, this pain, one may not reside. Ten minutes, the totality of time, the measured breath. the drowning hour now sets and life is done, is vanquished. In your jonquil hues, your sorrowed desp'rate hymns, your sorry flame, your promenade extinguished. An epiphany bright, a wonderous perception: that drowning looks a lot like falling, slowed and blue; a waltz under the waves, the dire grey inception, your grave is set in sea, in silt forever true. And like a broken parachute, undone, unfurled, how your wispy golden ruffled dress betrays you Blinking away, a prize reclaimed, by the waterworld, its prize, besmirched, unglued, face blushing airless blue. May your wedding be the one youd dreamed, Through death, your groom, as with him you are teamed.