Comes the Chill

I remember your perfume and how its fragrance and your essence made me giddy, like fine champagne from a crystal flute, sparkling, how they made me act the fool and not care as long as I could see you, touch you, inhale you, feel you open yourself to me, but time passed, the chill crept in, and you and my love are shells of themselves since you hung your head and closed yourself off from the world you graced, even more lovely now in dreams, my last summer rose.

Bluejay

Veteran of old My Poetry Forum before its hiatus. Happy to be back.

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