The smell of his aftershave hangs in the air.
His image  etched upon the wall.
Vocal  whispers on the wind.
His breath on my cheek as I'm trying to sleep.
His touch on my ear,tells me he's still here.
He's playing on my hair again.
Thoughts of you expunged as egg shells broken 'pon the floor .
The stench of your aftershave,
Now my natural emetic.
Oh to rest.
(C) Livvi