Cuddled in bed au naturel, legs twisted around that sculpted waist, I smell the english rose in the silky strands of your hennaed hair. But it’s his vetiver-tinged cologne sprawled over your swan-like neck which suffocates me.
An empty pack of Marlboro, after our hurried twist under the satin sheets, is all that remains. Your distracted eyes during that last puff give it away. It’s our love that will go up in smoke.
continental drift engineered by stealthy time ~~ shards of broken glass