the ghost of flowers

 
 
 
 
I still go to the places
we used to hang out
 
it is both familiar and
strange, a disjointed
jamais vu, the past
and present holding  
hands
 
there was always
something special  
about you.
the nights I spent  
inside of you,
the flowers of you
covering me.
 
now you stay inside
of me even though  
you are gone.
 
on those nights when
loneliness is too small  
of a word,
 
I lie in bed and
listen to classical  
music,
 
and if I let go and
fade into the music,  
 
I can still smell the
ghost of your
flowers.
 
 
 
(c) 2018 R.R Zinn