A scent still lingered, pausing in the air to enfold and to greet.
A delicate reminder of patient webs we spun.
Gossamer silk to sweep into sweet surrender.
Your prayer to me.
The summer days we lazed, so comfortable in our solitude.
The guests we entertained yet danced alone. 

For your melody made my harmony.
Now I play alone.
How ribbons of light played upon your skin, peeping into velvet trysts of passion.
Of subtle glances; reaching for solidity, for understanding.
For fingertips that laced so perfectly within your own, crafted to fit.
 Memory is all that is left, my only lover.
And so I spin, pulling your scent about me.
The old battered jacket all you left.

You may also like

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published.