The Memory of my Love
Is as a rose preserved from time.
Or like a treasured bottle
from a vintage year for wine.

I am haunted by her memory-
How our fingers intertwined.
The fragrance of her body
as I held it close to mine.

Now just the shadow of her smile
Brings tears to a dry place.
Funny how my heart can race
Within the ghost of her embrace.
.
She is unchanging, therefore perfect
Her aspect is divine.
I believe that year was vintage-
for love, if not for wine.