In my bedroom
Your Perfume
Mingles with the dust
Of books.
Your scent lingers
On fingers.
But all I’ve touched
Will be dust.
- Comment
- Reblog
-
Subscribe
Subscribed
Already have a WordPress.com account? Log in now.
K Morris - Poet 
A sad poem, Kevin.
Thank you, Vivienne. I guess one could call it a sad poem. But it does, I think express the truth of love, lust and (perhaps) all human action, namely that it ends in dust.