The sweet smell of cinnamon.
I will always smell cinnamon wherever I go.
Whenever I think of you,
The smell comes rushing over me.
You left me on a cold winters night.
The power went out and we used a cinnamon scented candle to light up the room.
A soft pale orange pigment filled the space.
Whenever I look at pictures of us,
The picture turns to that soft orange color.
You were like cinnamon in many ways, a little bit of you was sweet but too much left me bitter.
Now winter has passed.
Six months later
I make a toast to a slow cinnamon winter.
YOU ARE READING
Maddy grace poetry
PoetryI'm only 17 and have always wanted to write poetry and prose. I will be posting daily collections of my poems.
