I drowned in the cushions  because you
weren't there to help me float above the
                                         sleepless twilight..

But while I was dragged beneath the waves
of quilted ecstasy, I was motionless...
           I was smothered beyond the grasp
of your touch.

I missed you on the opposite side of this
      boat of slumber, but without you
It rocked in the rough seas  
                                         of lonely nights.

I can still feel the breeze of your perfume
on the sheets
                   I sail on every night..


You were the anchor of my dreams,

         and now I drown every nightfall.

Without you,
it doesn't feel right to
          sleep in an ocean meant for two..


But now I drown in this bed,
                         suffocating  on cushions,

         drowning in this quilt of loneliness.

Redolence
by Michael R. Burch

Now darkness ponds upon the violet hills;
cicadas sing; the tall elms gently sway;
and night bends near, a deepening shade of gray;
the bass concerto of a bullfrog fills
what silence there once was; globed searchlights play.

Green hanging ferns adorn dark window sills,
all drooping fronds, awaiting morning’s flares;
mosquitoes whine; the lissome moth again
flits like a veiled oud-dancer, and endures
the fumblings of night’s enervate gray rain.

And now the pact of night is made complete;
the air is fresh and cool, washed of the grime
of the city’s ashen breath; and, for a time,
the fragrance of her clings, obscure and sweet.

Published by Poetry Magazine, Poetic Reflections, The New Formalist, Carnelian, Little Brown Poetry, Poetic Ponderings, Poem Kingdom, Net Poetry and Art Competition, The Best of the Eclectic Muse 1989-2003, Romantics Quarterly, Sonnetto Poesia, Poetry Life & Times and Trinacria

Keywords/Tags: Sonnet, night, darkness, violet, hills, rain, fresh, cleansing, fragrance, perfume, clings, clinging, obscure, sweet, concerto, dance, dancer

My fingers used to
always smell of her,
her scent would linger
on my clothes for days

Now that she has left,
my fingers reek of cigarettes,
and my clothes remain unwashed

All I want is for my skin to
absorb her scent once again

But this is not a poem,
and she has changed her perfume

Her perfume
I just love it so

Her perfume
Where she got it I long to know

Her perfume
It now clings to me

Her perfume:
The last memory of her that will ever be

my love carries
the scent of vanilla perfume.
it drifts through me,
then dances with the wind
until it finally reaches him,
the man a thousand miles away,
and brings us closer together.