(c) 8/7/2021
I want to summon your scent
the way I summon
a facsimile of your smile—
crooked teeth,
wide mouth,
leaning against your first muscle car.
Moles on your shoulder.
Impossible phrasing
as if each word
surprised you.
Maybe I heard my name—
once—
clear, unbroken.
I needed that tenderness.
But your scent—
I remember wanting it.
Breathing it in,
again and again—
and now
nothing.
Not like rain,
or cut grass,
or the lilac bush next door—
those stay.
Yours is gone.
