The air smells like you
Like a bottle of givenchy
Cologne, except brand new.

Like the thought of me and you,
The thought of something actually being true.

I think back on that afternoon
Where we downed that whole
Bottle of cognac.

When you said the three words,
Your pronunciation so exact.

You saw all of me that day
And I admired all of your
Charismatic ways.

The lights were kept off
And I took in every bit of your
Neatly kept loft.

You'd said that I was the only
Girl you brought to your home
And for the first time,
I didn't feel alone.

And I remember all of what you said,
Every syllable, every vowel I clung on to,
Cause I always think back on that afternoon,
Praying that for the first time
What we have is actually true.