Aftertaste

Image courtesy: Google

The echoing silence told me
that I was now alone,
his empty chair offered me
its lap where I could moan.
Friends wept, family too,
before they parted.
And without much ado,
I waved and nodded.

But his face lingered,
framed, on the wall,
his voice I heard
as I waited for his call.
His scent so familiar
still hung in the air,
making me shed a tear
at our incomplete pair.

Love birds and butterflies
resumed their part;
mesmerising with their lies
many a young heart.
The aftertaste of lost love
they kept a dark secret,
so surely tomorrow
love, all will tread.