Black Leather and Red Carnations
It's easy to miss you when you're gone.
As I lay on crumbled sheets,
Lights dim, I look for your brown shoes
To be perfectly placed at the foot
Of my bed.
I want to run my finger tips
Along the black leather of your
Satchel, slightly worn and seated
Proudly on a chair.
I sniff, wondering if the scent
Of your three cologne mix
Might still linger in the room.
I close my eyes and imagine in just
Moments I will hear that familiar
Tap, tap, tap
On my window.
I open them.
No shoes to see, bag to touch,
Scent to smell, or taps to hear.
Just the red carnations
You left on my table.