sometimes there’s a breath <br />of perfume in the air <br />it lays low <br />waiting for movement to stir it up <br />then it hangs like orphaned smoke. <br />it clings to my clothes; <br />forcing me to smell it all day long <br />bringing back memories… <br /> <br /> <br />and here I am again <br />colliding with worlds I thought I had left behind— <br />wrestling with winds I wasn’t sure would blow. <br />your name is a mist that floats around my head <br />a lightweight fog, <br />triggered by faint reminders <br />of orphaned smoke. <br /> <br /> <br />(1998-Tulsa, OK)<br /><br />Mark Money<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/orphaned-smoke/
