In the conservatory with the windows open wide I can still smell your pipe smoke.
I walk past and feel your oilskins' brush my hand.
I found some snippets of jet black hair left in my jewellery tray.
Your crash helmet sits on the hallway table.
I swear it wasn't there yesterday.
A visiting spirit playing games with my memory.
I'm guessing that's all it can be.
Or maybe I haven't accepted you're gone.
Love lingering too long.
(C) LIVVI