Sunflower And You
There are days when
i think about the imprints people leave
with us, before they really leave us.
just today, something reminded me of you
that sunflower you got me on valentines;
in between the pages of our favorite poetry book
it still smells the same. It still smells of you.
the sunflower reminds me
of the extreme attention it gives
to the sun, turning to it in its presence,
shying away from the world when
it’s not, and somehow, I think you
know how the very essence of it
is in me, in my very being,
you being the sun, me being the flower,
attentive, stubborn and smelling, of you.
there are days when
i think about the imprints people leave with us,
before they really leave us.
while most leave you with memories and material
you left me with a fragrance so unique, so strong
in all my belongings and in all of me
that now on days like these when I am cold
that smell makes me reek of you, a little more.
so far, yet so close, i wait for minutes
and lifetimes to pass, wondering
how every letter still looks the same
and reads the same, smells the same,
yet means so different, from what
it used to be.
the walls are closing in on me,
now that you’re time zones away
from me, this city, this room,
which no longer seems like home,
you are a cause so lost, that if I could,
i would send you these fragments and fragrances
like flowers and letters,
just to remind you,
of a wait that just doesn’t seem like
coming to an end.
as I lie here on the same sheets
we shared that night,
and I hold the dead petals of that sunflower
hoping, wishing, and desperate
to send this smell to you.
So, you would spend the same nights
in melancholy missing me,
as I do, missing you.