I never know if you really existed.
I remember only your ghost imprint,
a flowing white cotton nightgown,
your naked silhouette apparent by light.

I remember the fragrance of jasmine,
pots of hot oolong tea,
curry salmon with mashed potatoes,
and spooning while half asleep.

Your image is of questionable reality,
a breeze blowing through the window,
the dancing of the curtains,
no one ever really knows for sure.

What is real is uncertain.
What happened is forgettable.

© 2012, DeanWalker. All rights reserved.

DeanWalker (10 Posts)


  1. Anya

    I love the details that you chose the describe, and the way you described them. :) The feeling it evokes is *so* familiar.

  2. DeanWalker (Author)

    Thanks, Anya. I appreciate your kind words.

  3. I could swear I commented on this… hmmm Anyway, lovely verse Dean. Nice imagery. :)

  4. Dean, I love your other work, but I looooove it when you break out in poetry. You have a real gift for it, a feel for expressing deep emotions. Wish you’d do it more often. Lovely. :)

Got something to say?

WP-SpamFree by Pole Position Marketing