It was warm there, burrowed in the nook of your neck
On that cold yet cozy autumn morning.
"дом", you said.
Home it was,
in every language.
I wonder if the tic tac knew its fate
When you oh-so-gently placed it on your tongue.
Did it know we'd be here?
A year later.
With no longer a need for aroma-altering substances.
I wonder what it would think
of our early morning kisses.
Full of sleep-filled smells.
Worshiping each-others undoneness.