Memory Glands Poem by Francie Lynch

When she said, "Don't talk to me, "
She lost some of her voice.
Then I heard, "Don't look for me",
She gave no other choice.
"Don't touch, I have no feelings,
You make my skin crawl,
Don't expect a pick up,
If you pick up to call".

But I still smell her everywhere,
The shampoo used on her hair;
The bedsheets where we lay bare;
The fragrance of her festive tree;
Her aromatic herbal teas;
The lilies she could grow in sand,
Are constants in my memory glands.