Anais Anias
Today a little bottle caught my eye:
‘twas perfume, that for years, I haven’t worn.
Some memories came drifting through my mind;
with that, a thousand “what if’s” were reborn.
If I had stayed with you and lived in France,
become acquainted with each lovely lane
and learned to converse in your native tongue,
perhaps we’d still be strolling by the Seine.
I only have a picture that’s half torn.
Somewhere, your address hides inside a drawer;
today I wore that perfume, did you know?
A tribute to what could have been much more.
