It doesn’t take much to remind me:
a trace of perfume in the air
lipstick stains on a cigarette butt burning there
as much as I tell myself that I don’t care
no use lingering on
these things now that she’s gone.
But sometimes late at night
when the traffic is light
and the hum of the AC goes off
with a cough,
I can hear her soft breathing
beside me, believing
forever’s down payment
will carry us through;
what’s the use?
in this lifetime we hadn’t much chance
to grow old together,
in deeper romance.
And the seeds that we buried
will all turn to plants
in another man’s garden,
another man’s dance will be
with her tomorrow;
the joy and the sorrow
we shared and were spared
linger on in the air,
and despite my pretending
that I just don’t care
one trace of her perfume, the scent of her hair
or the sight of a cigarette just burning there
still reminds me.
27 NOV 2005
