I have to admit, I miss your fragrance.
Your scent – like the sweetest rose damped by the fresh morning dew –
Only sweeter.
I cannot tell if it is because I am too bemused by you, or
Just my yearning to have my nose and lips again
Gently pressed on your neck;
Yet I do know that it is not the perfume that you wear,
But the flesh, your skin – your very flesh.

I crave for you
Like a wild beast chasing its prey;
But you are more appealing,
And I, more temperate;
Yet my insatiable craving calls me
To an untamed remembrance;
Thus, in the garden of flowers did I
Search for your fragrance,
But not one petal can emit
The very scent nor a tinge of your hue,
Which left me so unsatisfied
And to grow more desirous of you.

I thirst for your scent;
I thirst for your touch;
I thirst to behold your vast eyes;
So unquenchable, for you have drugged me too much
With the hemlock of your love;
That there is no cure for me
But to inhale your substance;
Thus I crave, my love, for your sweet, fleshly
Fragrance.

(Charlz dela Cruz,
May 31, 2012)