Roses

The smell of your hair has left my pillow,
but every night I still feel your warmth.

You asked if I would wait.
I can and still will.

I turn to face an empty space,
where once you used to lie
and look for a spark that lights the night
through a teardrop in my eye.

Every night.
The first and last thought that goes through my mind
is that one night.
The warmth of your breath.
The smell of your hair.
The softness of your skin.
The heat from your heart.

Roses.
I will wait.