Resonance

The scent of you 

  is still on my fingertips, 

  in my hair 

  It hangs around me softly, 

  like a comfortable old shirt 

  patient enough to let me wear it still. 

The image of you 

  is still on my mind, 

  in my eyes 

  it’s said a thing of beauty 

  is a joy for ever and ever and 

  (I think it was Keats) 

The touch of you 

  lingers on my skin, 

  in my heart 

  Will it hurt if you go?

  Suppose so—I suppose,
  But you’d always have been worth it.