A lightly tossed,
ever so soft
blanket
struggles to maintain its
grip on the bed.
Your sumptuous scented presence still
on the pillow
of this same bed;
was it really only this morning that you left?
I can still see the impression
your dark-haired head
has pressed,
caressed
into the soft surface.
Has it really only been hours?
Whole lifetimes seem to have passed by.
An echoed sigh
whispers in your delicious voice
borne on the wind.
When will I be with you again?
A question I will never ask;
you take your own path
& sometimes wind up here