the clouds mouth at the wind, missing her sweet scent just barely as she whispers on by. in the grass, below, the two of us do not miss our markβ we are a perfect bullseyeβ and the clouds can only watch in jealousy. they are an unwilling audience to your sticky lips on my jaw, just resting there, just tasting the condensation on my skin like there's never been a sweeter nectar (though it may just be sweat).
i'll tell you a secret: i put on my favorite perfume, gave some to the wind, and her hands touched my cheeks as she passed on by, giving me a gift even as she was on her way out. maybe she thanked me, but i didn't hear.
you told me i smelled nice that morning, hugged me real tight with your nose in my neck. high above, the clouds tried to give the wind a kiss, but she was much too quick for them to catch.