the scent of orange blossoms drifted through the air
of a shady cluttered bedroom.
A cascade of cold sunlight drifted through
the blinds of a corner window.
A dreamy kind of state that lulls the senses.
Sacred only to your piece of mind,
and no one elses.
A constant wave of heat thrums from a tiny silver heater.
And if you sit just right,
the heat and drowsy light, the clutter and the blossoms,
keep away the cold outside.
Combined, they hint at the happier times.
Summer times when youth kept hurt at bay,
if only for one more season, one more day.

A touch from the floor throws back the present,
The sactuary just a place.
A thought held dear when nothing else is.
Dust shifts through the light,
glittering as if made of gold.
If the sound of life were to take its place,
Show the world outside would you hear?
Sitting on a bed that knows you too well,
here the hair turns grey, the skin begins to fade.
The minds eye begins to dim,
The memory just a feeling of a feeling.
Sacred only to your heart,
and no one elses.
Tragic really to see the attention
captivated by the vast forgetfulness of you.

Just to smell those orange blossoms, just to taste
summers kisses, one more time,
when summer has come and gone.