The Scent Of You Poem by alex haywood

I wish my hands
didn't smell of you
this morning

the dent in my bed
made by you
empty as a bowl of soup
devoured by a peasant

like his bread I am broken
before being consumed

stray thoughts of you
like dew collecting to rain down
in a torrent
ripple through my mind

I wish my pillow
didn't reek of you
the scent molding my nose
an offending sense of reality
forces it's way into me:
you are not here!

I stop with difficulty

coax my mind
to proceed in reverse
the smell taking me back
you taking me in
me taken by you

your scent
how I love it
on my hand!