Passing by the perfume counter,
Memories of you flooded my mind.
You were a connoisseur of scent,
Even mixing perfumes for a new find.
I never wrestled with gifts for you,
I just bought you the latest fragrance.
Your eyes would go wide in surprise
And you would spray it on and dance.
Now that you are gone to heaven,
Some days I am filled with such pain.
But when I stand at the perfume counter,
I find I can capture your essence again.
Written for the OctPoWriMo 2019, 31 poems in 31 days. Day Eight prompt is Scent.