Organza memories
sway as a breeze
beckoning
recollecting even now,
the scent.
'Ma Griffe' by Carven.
This is
the essence of you
your cheek against mine,
as if to impress
with softness and vulnerability
With love you bend
and dab your neck,
from finger to bottle
and back again,
while my hand resists
the pull
across layers of silk and white wool
enshrined with the smell of you.
The echo of your
exhort
'Love of self comes first!'
then wince to witness
the angry, empty
glass curse
the air.
The crush of cold
walls
the anguish quiet as snow
as you tugged at the demons,
sobbed down to your knees,
while they stole one or two
too many memories.
Clear eyes resolved
with sleeves in shreds
back from that trip to hell,
that even without
the one or two they stole,
your touch lingers,
soft
your soul survives,
warm.