ForgottenMoonchild

a whiff is all I need to go mad with longing for your shoulders and lips I become a dog hunting the trail of your distinctive redolence, scrabbling at the clothes I wore when I saw you last so that I find the scent again. when I’m with you, your scent envelops me as your arms encircle me and I am so inundated that my sense of smell is eventually dulled. but it doesn’t matter because my sense of touch is all the more alive, tantalized by the pressure and heat of your arms and chest and skin. but when you are gone I begin to hallucinate your scent: the faintest hint of you floating on the air enters my