His scent had faded from the shirt
Like the perfect trust kids place in
Parents and the beauty of dawn
Consumed by harsh, sunlit din.

I’ve lost the relic of his love,
The musk that let’s me dream he’s here.
So I go to his apartment,
Hoping wildly his voice to hear.

I go onto his bed to lie;
His smell hasn’t begun to ebb.
I hold his pillow tight and think
Of my love tangled in life’s web.

Maybe when he returns and rests,
Some lingering traces of me
Will make him think of weeks alone
Without my zealous company.

Perhaps a little whiff will make
Him crave not the flesh but the heart
And soul which love him so, like his
Musk teases me when we’re apart.