Linger

October 18, 2018

Circa 2015 

 

I sleep at ease

 

when the scent of last night
stitches into my clothes.

 

I breathe,
and every past
good or bad decision
we enacted in moonlight
perfumes the room.

 

His fragrance envelopes me.
The aroma cloaks and holds
shapes: impressions left on the couch,
incense coiling to the ceiling,
the mint on his lips,
the trace of pine he wore
home from work,
even the planted whiskey kisses
that blossom overnight.

 

I watch as mornings rise
like the steam ascending
from my mug
and I realize how
he holds me
the way citrus sticks
to your fingertips.
Encouraging sweet dreams,
I feel him.
He holds me, and  

 

I sleep at ease.

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