There's a white shirt in my closet
That I have no memory of;
Cherry hues around the collar
Dirt on its cuffs
Ironed creases at its arms
Three clean folds, a sartorial buff!
Remind me if it's a souvenir,
Remind me if it's a gift
It treasures a haunting evocation
Of loss and grief.
A familiar citric aroma fills my lungs
I must have hugged it a million times
But never worn it once
Just the ghost of my shallow past life
Holds it clear and pristine
I don't know who it belongs to anymore
But the perfume smells like mine.