Dear Diary, Poem by Cj Heck

I think I’m suffering from
breathing memories,
and I think it’s pure and simply
the ABC’s of olfactory.
Damn. It has to be.
Nothing has ever made me
come more unglued.

It was a she-thing, he-thing.
Biological or chemical - maybe.
Raw. Yes, that was it,
raw and animalistic somehow.

I’ll tell you what,
my eyes could go,
my ears along with them,
but the nose knows.
That him-scent traveled nerves
I had been unaware of
until I breathed him in.

Diary,
there was a direct line,
right here inside of me,
miles and miles of it, maybe,
and it was connected to the Y.
My Y.
It made me all tingly, wet, ready
and aching to have him fill me up,
all from that heady scent of his.

Damn that scent!
… miss that scent.