Your Smell

When I wake
you are gone,
but I already knew this
would be the case.
You are always gone
when I wake,
always,
and each and every time
I see the place you should be
but are not
the gaps beneath my breaths
grow wider.

Your smell...

Ah, your smell is still present
though,
in the air,
the pillow,
the sheets,
on me.

The smell of you covers me,
fills me,
fills the dark gaps
between my breaths,

so today I will not shower,
instead carrying the smell of you
when I rise
and tumble through another pointless day
of work.

I will not shower today
and I may not even rise.
I might lie here
in this crumpled bed,
smelling you,
missing you,
refusing (and failing, always failing) to
picture you
slipping silently in beside
your slumbering husband
before he wakes.

Yes, I shall lie here
in bed,
alone,

alone,

so very much alone
without you.

Edward Lee