THE ODOR OF PERFUME AND TEARS
The poets unlocked the five locks on his door,
Entered his almost bare apartment.
He had nailed shut all the windows.
He checked the nails, no tampering.
He smelled a familiar perfume in the room;
It was the special, unique perfume she used.
It was the perfume of the woman
With dark hair and blue eyes.
He heard weeping in the bedroom.
He make up the bed when he left.
The white blanket had been tossed
Onto the white floor.
The white sheets were rumpled.
There a head shape pressed into his white pillow.
The weeping was louder when he was in bedroom.
It was not her weeping, it was his weeping.
He touched his dry eyes, he was not crying,
But yet his weeping grew louder and louder.
Duane Locke
Posted over on Subtle Tea
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