It was the cologne I think
I have this thing for the way something smelt.
So all the sterile, forgotten leapt back in intense colour.
I had to stand there for a moment, and fight for control.
The fuel and green fields, merciless sun.
Nothing on our mind.
A train thundering overhead
And a lazy cigarette in the bridge below.
Dangling legs.
Peace.
The intensity in everything you said and did.
Wall flowers on my library book.
3 am on a watch tower.
Blue smoke and minimal rooms.
I miss you.
I missed you while we sat there
And I looked at eagles from Prax
And pretended you didn’t exist,
While all I felt was intensely alive.
And on odd mornings,
Dire straits. A sunny balcony.
A busy street outside,
And me – with the day to myself,
I think of you and
I learn to grow old.
Gracefully.
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