What I See

Perhaps they think I am crazy.
Perhaps they are right,

as I gaze at the empty chair across from me,
the bustle of the diner around me,
smiling, seeing

you,

the curve of your neck, of your shoulder
barely showing,
your hair, somehow wild and tamed all at once,
the half smile, your tragic green eyes.

I hear your voice,
intimate and low,
so quiet that I have to lean in close to hear,

close enough that I smell your perfume
and the fresh clean scent of your hair.

All because even though you are not here,
you are.

About this poem

A love poem. Pure and simple. No layers. No hidden meanings.

Tom