The Gravestone

I could smell the peonies before,
before I could hear her shaking breath
before she wrapped her arm around me,
spoke of life, and of death

It has been a decade since,
my bones have weathered to clay
perhaps the last thing I’d ever smell
was a pair of peonies that day.

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/1u2c0yn/comment/or8us2q/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web3x&utm_name=web3xcss&utm_term=1&utm_content=share_button
https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/1u39s1p/comment/or8ws1p/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web3x&utm_name=web3xcss&utm_term=1&utm_content=share_button