Brushing Past

Everywhere I walk
On everything I touch
I find the scent of you
As if you’d just brushed by.

Open door leading to a vestibule
The wailing call of the muzzein
wafting from minaret to minaret.
Streets so narrow no rich man can pass.

In each I see you.
The door through which I pass
without knocking.
The call to prayer a lovers serenade.
Arm in arm on a narrowed path,
moving forward, seen, felt, heard. At last.
In each I see you.

Brushing past.
Will I miss you, your presence ?
With a breath
will you be gone ?
Will my touch turn you to mist ?
Slowly disappearing in the morning sun.

On everything, your scent.

10 April, 2017
Longitude 41.0082 degrees N
Latitude 28.9784 degrees E