Day Two Hundred and Forty Six: Memory in Dust

This is a topic I keep revisiting and with good reason; I feel that there is a great poem to be had in here somewhere and I suppose these are just the steps in that journey.

Through Frosted Glass

Now that you’re away
there’s nothing but sweet scent left

Now that you’re away
your memory’s in the dust

the little fragments of yourself
you leave behind

the little fragments of yourself
I keep in mind

sit with burnt out candles
and memories of the night before

a silhouette of you in dust
acting as picture perfect genetic symmetry

hanging with that perfume in the air
while our passion remains in the cinders.

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