Whimsical–spinning still

Whimsical--spinning still.
The lights meld like a
Van Gogh and the room
breathes as one. Elusive 
reality breaks off in 
pieces. He can see your
skull beneath your skin
and we all see your
lips that kiss life. 
As hours pass, the lights
turn dim then off
all together and the
room still breathes
to your beating heart. 
The melted candles spread
over the waxed wooden
tables, the shadows stain
the walls, I can still hear
them laughing. Whimsical
and still spinning, still.

What do you think? Criticisms and praise welcome.

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