You left me burning in the morning sun,
Which leered through unwashed windows by the bed;
Cold sheets reminding that you were now gone,
Vapors of vodka torturing my head.
I still could sense your pungent, sweet perfume
Mixed with erotic sea-musk on my fingers;
Your sultry essence haunts the darkened room,
Melodic laughter—still in memory lingers;
The pillow near me, smeared with lipstick blue,
Though in dim light I thought the color black;
Your absence twists what memories construe—
Except the dream you might one day come back.
I gazed across the nightstand’s grimy top;
The money still was there—the rose was not.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.