Senses

I catch fragments of
her fragrance even when
she is gone.

Strawberries and cream
on my tongue brings a
vision of her face,
smiling with eyes closed.

Jazz from New Orleans
reminds me of our trip,
walking hand-in-hand
through the Quarter and
along the river.

Her silhouette is imposed
on every sunset, a
contented shadow admiring
the colors.

There is no part of me
that she has not
touched.

The Garden of Five Senses, ,

The Garden of Five Senses, , (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

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Filed under NaPoWriMo, Poetry, Poetry - Prompts

Some of what I write is true, some is fiction; most is merely possibility.

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