Iman Mersal - Portrait

His heart, attuned to every step I took,
now he can be remembered
only as an old, musty smell.
Maybe he hated my summer shorts,
and my poetry that is empty of music.
But I caught him more than once,
dizzy in the hubbub my friends made,
stealing puffs
from cigarettes they left behind.

Iman Mersal

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/portrait-39/