The scent of you. Intoxicating like
nostalgia perfume.
A flick of hair shooting skyward.
The musty remnants
of us upon sheets
not forgotten.
The fighting pulse of suppressed memory.
They are glued to me, keep me bound
by the same heartsick melody.
With phrases in the "what
if"
and written
in the key of "meant to
be".
You have bitten me with every gentle
press
of parted lips and sideways glances that
hither
"come."
I have forgotten you, but you spring
forth when unguarded.
Deep breaths of friends
when we've parted and I'm assaulted
for a moment
by your scent.
