He can’t forget her face and how that night
she said, “I love you” going out the door.
Her fragrance lingered when she’d left his sight.
It was Chantilly, that sweet scent she wore.
She crashed her car and died, and now each day
he thinks of how he’d once asked what he’d do
without her. He had said, “There’s just no way
that I could go on, Honey, without you.”
She’d touched his cheek and whispered, “Don’t you know
I’d never leave you? That’s a promise, Dear.
If even death should take me, I would show
you somehow, my beloved, that I were near.”
He “feels” her even now inside their room.
She visits him with scent of her perfume.
Sept. 26, 2019
For Tania Kitchin's Haunted Poetry Contest
(thanks for the inspiration)
Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2019