I smell of him this morning.
He is on my clothes, my hair,
in my mouth and skin,
surrounding me -
a lingering scent of cologne
and bare flesh upon flesh,
a calming presence,
bringing a pleasant, sleepy warmth
like afternoon sunlight.
He has saturated me
with his essence.
Does he too
laze the morning away,
the shifting sheets reminding him
of my every touch
and the vanilla silk of my skin?
Am I on his clothes, his hair,
in his mouth and skin,
with him as much as he is with me?
Does he smell of me this morning?

04/28/2002

Posted on 04/28/2002
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