1

A smell clings to him.

To his clothes or his

body. I wouldn’t know.

It’s there, this musk,

a light and dark myriad

of herbal rebellion, and

dry perspiration, and the

way thunder rings. I’ll

catch his scent in places

he’s never been and

I wonder if he’s thinking

of me. What he thinks of me.

How, when, where, and why

he thinks of me. My dress is

covered in strong white lace

trying desperately to

hate him, or just to forget. But

then I catch his scent- hold it

in my nose- it presses on-

frigid steel & a cacophony

of emotions in ringing

discordance. Waves assault

my ribs, pass through my lungs,

create chaos within four

beating chambers.

And then- I just can’t-

forget him.