A Lonely Sunday Morning.

Waking up alone, with only memories, to hold in your arms.

Tears so dry, rest on my cheeks, as the scent of romance fills the air,

They are lilacs, the flower whose odor, is a work of art.

I wonder how you knew they were my favorite, when morning arose

Was it a lucky guess, or did my kiss tell you so?

 

Your side of the bed, remains hauntingly empty

I have only flowers, and memories, to hold inside my arms

Come back and lay here, dear

How I would have loved, to again hold you near

Reviews

[Saturn's Lover]

Aww, so beautiful. "They are lilacs, the flower whose odor, is a work of art." Love that sentence too.