the smell of him
can never leave my brain,
like a forest
just after the first summer rain:
piney, fresh, new.
and he was.
not a hair out of place;
all shirts without a stain,
folded to perfection
tucked inside cedar drawers
waiting to be worn.
too bad their wish
can never be filled.
you made the choice for them.
no going back.
not after what you did.
