Smoke in Her Scarf

She left her silk scarf draped behind the chair. Still scented with smoke and something like a sigh. Like a final kiss burning through the morning fog. I kept it, though I don't know why. That amber scarf darkened by the rain. Smoke curling past my window, a memory half Alive. The café corner's changed, Or maybe it's just me. But her silence still arrives. Smoke in her Scarf or smoke in My chest? Was it her lips I missed Or the words unsaid? That scarf said nothing, Like the night without goodbye. Do I sit here still With silence open wide? Now that silk scarf sleeps inside a wooden box With old piano sheets and letters never sent. If she returns, she won't remember it at all. But I remember through the smoke the scarf Still holds.