from atop her dresser
i catch the occasional glimpse
of deep blue sea
as linen curtains flutter
from an afternoon breeze.
but i long for her touch.
once, i was the favorite
when lavender oil
filled my tall, slender form
to the brim.
each night her nimble fingers
gently held me
while pouring out
the sweet-scented libation
on an outstretched palm.
now, a thin layer of dust
has dulled my shine.
bone-dry and forgotten,
i dream of those evenings
when she was mine.
