Sweet
The foosty smell of her unworn silks
tries to mask her scent
but my nostrils hunt angrily
tip-toe passed the odours
that try to mask her essence.
When that trace is finally found
i linger there
in daylight tendrils
trying to remember
what the taste of happiness
was like
but all those memories
only fracture the broken
parts that lie
in piles
somewhere deep inside
Copyright © Christopher Quigley | Year Posted 2021
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