That thought that still lingers at the end of my memory lane

That old fresh fragrance of your hair,

It still lingers beneath the surface of my skin.

Oh, what a scent that was embedded in my memory,

As I held you close every night.

That perfume of your delicate skin,

That taste of your softest kiss,

That smoothness of your playful touch;

It lingers in stillness at the end of my dreams.

That soothing voice,

Which echoes in the tunnels of my recollection,

Tunes my sense of reality in an out of its idealist setting;

And that deep stare of your contemplative eyes,

How they used to see me through the night

Keeping company to my darkest of measures,

Exercising their discrete distance

To see my inspiration come to life.

That thought that still lingers at the end of my memory lane,

How it remains alive despite the disillusion of its deceit;

And I converse with it during every full moon,

And I salute it every time I drive by the lonely road,

Hoping that when amnesia overcomes me,

My recall will fold over the pages to oblivion

And your lingering memory shall be no more.