The musty trees of your old letters,
alphabet hanging from twigs.
Ylang ylang blooms wafting,
their shade
home to our linked arms.
Drops of cedar and nutmeg on the sink
from your aftershave, spicy
and suave like your tongue licking the apple
blossom mist off me
the first time. I inhale a lungful,
hurriedly close the cap – saving, saving –
like I do my mouth
to keep the winged
creatures fluttering inside after
savoring the sweet peaches
off your lips.
This was first published in Mister Magazine section on November 8, 2023.
