National Poetry Day: Perfume

The smell of our love lingers in my room,

clinging to my sheets and feeding my dreams.

It’s the smell of sweat and morning breath,

of chemical perfumery and well worn shoes.

It’s the scent of your cunt as I taste it with an eager tongue

chasing your booze flavoured sighs,

oh my love, oh my lady, oh my goddess.

I keep the door closed and watch the windows steam,

hoarding our perfume until I can stand it no more

then I go out into the world

in clothes rolled in our bed

and snarl at those who steal a whiff of our scent

and pray to you my love, my lady, my goddess

that they know this smell is ours, is us.

I want to bottle it

and spray you on my neck when I’m lonely or sad

or when your scent on a pillow or a scarf is all that’s left.

Until then I nestle in your sweet, salty aroma,

keep it as jealously as I keep you,

oh my love, oh my lady, oh my goddess,

and bathe in our perfume.


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