Lying together quieting a garden in us after the rain
Each one breathes we remember deep in a soil drain
A vellichor scent, strange, wistful second-hand book
That smell of old paper turning lives stories we took,
They're no longer ours, but linger ghosts of unaware
Touch us, we once belonged, a life fully lived & bare,
I hold you in the trace of you, so real in a fading zeal,
Ever a presence in an absence, your soul covered teal
Reading longing you almost arrive sands thru hands,
Peruse the margins in you lives never lived soft lands
Feel the very mists start to move where we can grow,
Swim in the love of love wherever it may even a flow
Mar 18
Mar 18, 2026 at 8:37 AM UTC
Lying together quieting a garden in us after the rain
Each one breathes we remember deep in a soil drain
A vellichor scent, strange, wistful second-hand book
That smell of old paper turning lives stories we took,
They're no longer ours, but linger ghosts of unaware
Touch us, we once belonged, a life fully lived & bare,
I hold you in the trace of you, so real in a fading zeal,
Ever a presence in an absence, your soul covered teal
Reading longing you almost arrive sands thru hands,
Peruse the margins in you lives never lived soft lands
Feel the very mists start to move where we can grow,
Swim in the love of love wherever it may even a flow
I always seem to get lost in the Proust colored moments where I think I smell memories of what could never be real and yet ... yet ... there is that soft, blurry dream that leads down an old book of poetry that I read with fingers in the vellum thinking of you.
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