Wilted Flowers

I still keep your flowers on the kitchen table
A reminder of what once was and no longer is
Sometimes I pass by and swear I still smell you
The mixture of your cologne and red wine
The one we spilled, drunkenly making dinner
It’s a scent forever ingrained into my mind
I remember your laugh, smile, your goodbye
The last time I saw you walk out the door
A late night phone call, pending funeral plans
I showed up quietly wasted under my veil
The one we’d picked out for our wedding
Dyed deep black, no longer a happy occasion
I was the last to leave, my reality sobering
As I watch them bury you and my future
I stole the flower arrangement
My last bit of you