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