Empty frames

I remember her throat like a vase

Her words, like a bouquet 

But with each flower out of place

She'd tell me she loves me

She always did 

When she got that way

There was a perfume in that room

Like hyacinth

As wild as our night

We could've called it proof

That words wilt and die

And it's strange, what remains

We carried it home on our skin

And we hang empty frames 

To remind us to forget