She may no longer be yours,
but take comfort
for you can always
smell her in the rain.
The type of rain that softens,
that blurs,
that quells the city.
And you can think to yourself;

‘my soul is drenched in you’

There she floats
upheld in ropes of light
that dance with the dust
and cast a hazy mosaic
all across her spine.

I am seeing this
for the first time
and I’m sure for the last.
For she’ll leave when she wakes
in that way only she can;

with so much ease.

But maybe she’ll leave behind
some of her weary
magic on the sheets,
as a fleeting gift
to fill my little nose at night.