Ghost

[milo]

It's been 10 years since I have seen your face,
inhaled your minty breath , a cigarette.
But like my smokes, my healing lungs forget
those expelled breaths that occupied the space.
The earth moves on, it trods its earthly pace
and doesn't hesitate to mark regret.
10 years can pass like smoke in fog and yet
a passing wind makes smoke and fog embrace.

A photograph fell from a dislodged book
that wouldn't rest quite right upon the shelf.
Now every time the earth tastes fresh borne rain,
I smell your hair. When I am out, I look
to find your blush but find, instead, myself -
similar, but weary, gray and tight with pain.

You reuse words but they don't seem redundant. Well done.
Now for my cigarette.

My wife calls me cheap but I prefer frugal.

I quit smoking 10 years ago but I forget sometimes.

Thanks for the comments.