Your Last Bottle of Perfume

In the side drawer of your desk
Under a silk handkerchief,
I found your last bottle of perfume.

A sliver of sunlight though the blinds
Radiated off the gentle curve of the bottle,
And it looked like a diamond earring.

I held the bottle in my open palms
As if it were a child
And the last spray within was you,
Sleeping tenderly in the hammock
At the edge of the garden
The day before your trip home.

I held the nozzle to my nose
And felt your skinny fingers
Squeeze my shoulders
And did not relent to the desire
To join you.