Mary Jane Doesn'T Live Here Anymore Poem by Jeffrey SpahrSummers

But her sweet gutteral scent
Permeates through the house still
Like dull shafts of sunlight
Hung dusty in the windows.

And I remember her in that chair
Staring at the books for hours,
Electric moments under headphones
Giddy from the white album.

And she was a lover to be sure,
Quick to excite and comfort,
Quick to entice a lonely man
With a smile and soft afternoons.

And I imagine her in some night
Blowing in on the arm of a friend,
Blending into the party easy,
Teasing me with the love we once had.