I like the covers turned down
Kicked away
No matter the season
While the breeze from my open bedroom window
Allows for the reentry of your ghost
First gift
I ever gave you
A lavender sachet
In the shape of a corset
Hoping you'd recall the scent of my hair
No matter where you'd lay your head
You hung it from the rear view mirror
Of a truck that had too much mileage on it
I remember you selling that truck
But keeping the corset
I know you still remember the scent of my hair
Though you try to forget it
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem