Humming after a shower, the counter-
Melody rises from the TV screen.
My dripping eyes slide to the flowers
On page six of a magazine.

You used to smell like lilacs and
Mint - when you brushed your teeth.
In the cooling autumn, your summer
Scents are diligently haunting me.

A hundred years ago, or so,
You promised: "I won't let you go,"
But then one of us was bound to float
Away, someday.

A field of lilacs all in bloom
Are as charming as an empty room -
Without a bride, without a groom,
And slowly fading.

Folding the sad old news away,
I lay it on a tray and settle down.
How many strong men and pretty
Girls are up there where you hang around?

Chances are, it's multitudes,
Trillions more than crawl the earth,
And you don't need any sort of test
To tell me what each one is worth.

How many dances do you see
With women I could never be?
Does each, with a hand white like a lily,
Ask for your touch?

And how many girls do you deny
With passionate emerald eyes like mine?
How many are drunk on feral wine?
Probably none.

But then again, I won't begrudge
You the benefits of a resting place.
If you are where I think you are,
You bear immortal, eternal grace.

And it's loneliness, like a bad
Priest preaching the gospel wrong,
That sneaks into my throat tonight
And forces out a song.

A hundred years ago, or so -
You took my passionate emerald glow,
But how on earth could you ever know?
I cry when I see lilacs alone.