It was the scent of you, in my hair perhaps the position of my body under blankets shaped perfectly for some phantom to perpetrate those memories still frozen in my ears, the wind whispering of our nights brushing against my skin, in the perfect places with the perfect pressure, I could've looked back I would have seen your face, but my eyes were resting in the comfort of your lips on my temple and the scent of you, in my hair perhaps, convinced me to sleep
Thanks. Here's another. the one you will towards fantasy down dusty roads we would dance kicking up the apparitions of your mother's words you gave me had anyone slept with you since her? how did it sound from my lips? as i repeated, refined the foreign sounds i was not a natural could never love you like she did. died slowly never to see you again it was no coincidence your mother and I mourning your loss of us.
The title drew my attention because I am very much into my lovers' natural fragrance. My wife knew not to use deodorant when she wanted to put me into a sniffing, nipping, licking frenzy. After she died, I had a dream where we were together and I could vividly smell her pit odor. It is the only dream I recall where I could smell something. This poem brot that back to me.
Wow...thanks for sharing that Shale...I write a lot about scent, it's amazing really, how the scent of someone or a period in time can completely change your mood, it's a very involved sense we have...it's also really odd how the scent of someone or something can just hit you out of nowhere sometimes, isn't it? I remember when a family member of mine died and I had some of her things I tried to reserve the scent for as long as I could. It's so hard to describe scent.
That's one reason it's been interesting to go into old peoples houses that they have occupied for a long time. And old books. Nice work, Used to be honey.
