Cologne

He smelled of dirty tamarind leaves,

dusted with vanilla beans

and freshly picked spices.

I could smell him,

even when he was not present.

The scent travelled, like a flume,

into every street and every room.

It was always with me,

always changing.

But when he left it went away completely.

Without him there was no scent.

Not in my memories,

not on my clothes.

Not on his.

Yet, I found a way for him to remain behind,

and as he lay still beside me,

I spritzed his body with joviality.

He smelled of dirty tamarind leaves

dusted with vanilla beans

and freshly picked spices,

nevertheless it didn’t smell like him.

 

Anonymous

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