It’s getting late,
the moon high in the sky
So am I, but not so much that
I don’t feel his weight on the bed,
so familiar that I time my breath
exhaling the soft sigh of relief
as he lies down behind me
the scent of that horrible cologne that
I would endlessly tease him about
Not so much that I can pretend not
to feel the light touch of his fingers
And then his lips on the nape of my neck,
On the slender side of my ribs, making me shiver

Through the window,
the moon is higher,
higher than I as
I roll to my right,
hair spread like a silky blanket,
becoming damp with my tears
My breath is stolen,
frozen and flushed
He is here, and this is the last good day
The last time before the demon
that ate his body took hold of his mind.

This is how I remember him.
This Moment.
Belly to belly, after love,
the windows open
The crickets,
a saw house serenade
His eyes.
Like this. Like now.
Belly to belly.
It can’t be real
I close my eyes and pray,
afraid, to open them,
praying I’m wrong
Praying I’m right
I can’t feel him anymore,
he’s gone from me again
but I still smell that godawful cologne
that I teased him endlessly about
and my skin still shivers
I grieve again,
grateful and devastated
will it never end?
Please never stop



One thought on “Cologne

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  1. What a gorgeous poetic voice you have! And your story was relived with your readers. Heartfelt and beautifully expressed! *****

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