Her signature scent,
I could still smell it,
Underneath the acrid sulfuric punge.
I try to sleep, a sort of sudor lingers in the sheets,
She is somewhere chewing on a peppermint,
Judging me, daring me to say,
Cold spots on the staircase,
Her musk at certain points in the house,
Her face imprinted on a car window,
She is smiling, then she is choking,
I close my eyes, I can still hear her.
The fateful day,
I took her to our room and pitched a tent,
Laid her nicely on a large wooden skate,
Burned incense for her every day,
She was always too sensitive,
Strong coffee made her sneeze,
But it was the exhaust that did her in,
A joke that went south too soon.
Three years gone by,
Relatives come and go, parties high and low,
No one asked where she is,
Maybe they know, they want me to fester in my misery,
Someone surely smelt the fetor coming from under the door,
Someone surely saw my hands shake,
Someone surely smelled all the Antiseptic,
I had to come clean,
With the admission came peace,
The redolence of pleasant sunshine,
As I watched from the van,
She smiled as she was carried away.