One morning he awoke to find
his nose had gone missing,
the sculpted feature that
clung to his face so sweetly, gone.
He couldn't enjoy the smell
of baking or clean laundry
in his afternoons spent with me,
or even the wintery scent while walking
up to my front door.
Or the lingering coffee before he closed his.
But he still had his lips, his eyes.
That was enough for me
and my button nose was enough for him
to experience every aroma.