I couldn't smell how people smell
How her hair betrays her trust
and sends me a whiff of the sunset fruit.
While my mind betrays mine -
papaya was never my favorite.
Or how her neck still exudes
patchouli, orange and rose and she knows
why she probably chose that perfume.
Floral decadence is my fate and I hate
when strangers on the street
turn my head into a disappointment.
Or how still underneath all of these
she flaunts another, a deeper one.
One so personal it escapes her entirely
and beseeches my sole admiring seat.
Of which I know no other description
but earth and oil and human; just words.
Like heartless critics, they do her no justice.
Sometimes I wish
I couldn't smell how people smell
Would probably save me a world of hurt.
Sometimes I wish
I couldn't love how I love
Would probably save me a world of hurt.
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