you are sea salt and pine
needles, the lingering scent
of cigarettes and my shampoo.
i am used to being stuffed full of
an image of who people wished i
was but you simply take each
piece of me like it is more
magnificent than the
last, like i am
somehow
made
of
something
more than skin
and bones and
aching lungs.
My new favorite thing is when
you say "What was that, lovely?"