Sen

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My dreams, at times,
can feel so real,
you could almost have
been standing there
before me, as solid as
I am now. Your scent,
like the perfume which
licks my clavicle,
potent as the sunshine.
Your voice, even as
it ever was, a monotone
as real as wind that
presses trees upon my window…

As I lean in to respond,
alas, I wake and I
find that I can’t remember
your face, your voice,
your scent- all faded into
a memory I can only
seem to recall in dreams.

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