Can I take you to the poem?
He asked again

We can dance to
The stanza

Spend time with
The rhyme

On the dance-floor
(As metaphor)

Are you into me
Like, as, a silly simile?

It’s synecdoche
Your  dance with me

You smell like riptides upon a fathomless sea, elusive waves that never cross, beckoning me closer.

You smell of exotic beaches on travel catalogues; the ones unexplored, untouched, unique. The ones not treaded upon, inviting and innocent.

You smell like the lighthouses on deserted rocks, leading me home, guiding me safely to shore and to you, slighting the storms; unwavering, trustworthy.

You smell like the seaside of my childhood; familiar, nostalgic, the ones I can traverse with my eyes closed. Land I trust and know like the back of our hands entwined.

                       You smell like salt and the ocean
                          Love upon the unending sea
                    Scents of cinnamon, fire, setting suns
                          You smell like home to me.

The poet lives two lives.
One on the outside,
And one in their mind.

When you look in their eyes
You could see an abyss.

If you looked long enough
You could sink into it.

But most people don’t see it.

Take the time to read the words, though,
And you would know for sure.

The poet lives in two different worlds.