lingering parts
and as of this writing, and everything else
you’ve left…
you’ve made your way back through my open door
and it may close
it may close many times
before bringing with your return the sweet spiced musked scent i
nuzzled my nose within for all the deliciously fragrant translation of ourselves
that fresh connections know so well
and i love that a smell lingers in the nostrils
of my memory long after,
long into the everything else
i love the process by which i will inevitably
lose count of your brown curls tucked away
for my memory to play with,
for my longing
to unfurl itself anew and anew
i who has never been a painter and you
who have left your signature
somewhere on some of my many corners
your touch, your time
they have made a canvas of me,
what beautiful work of playful hands at rest