I remember

I remember

The smell of her.

It is not easy

It needs a trigger

Unlike the memory

Of her face

The inside of her thighs

The tip of her fingers

The mole on her toe.

Smell is linked to taste

I so miss that.

It is a mistake to dwell

On the hardship

Of loss

It can consume everything,

Draining the best of us.

Hollowed out husks

Dried onion skins

Unlayered

Sad old prunes.

I could be one of them

Nine years on

But who’s counting

Bed covers and quilts

Scrunched up

Into a ball

Sweat and lust

Overlaid with the rime

Of time.

Even the heat of the sun

Can leave a cover of frost

On my heart.

It is inevitable

That one day

I will be swallowed

Into the void

Of lost things

Never to return.