impression smudged, like
your fingerprints on the glass,
long after you left,
I kept it there, on the table,
and I would think of you
in my home, as if you belonged.
it seems as though the air is
pervaded by this image of you,
like the scent clinging to the
shirt you wore that day,
as i wound around the fact that
I had to twist out the words to
say good bye to you.
and maybe in time,
i will find that the quality of your
being, carried in the air on molecules
too small to be seen, this
delicate fragrance of your spirit
it too will fade, like well washed jeans.
like the haziest of memories.
yes, the influence of you will be
washed away by hands and soaps
and the glass will be put away
and soon, I will no longer be able to recollect
which one it was, (for they all look the same now)
that you used the day you left.
No comments:
Post a Comment