My old boyfriend
used to wear a very
particular
(yet very commonplace)
aftershave.

Now and again
I'll catch a molecule
of it in the air -
in a club
or a lift
or a supermarket,
and it doesn't comfort me
at all.

No, no,
it doesn't comfort me
at all.

It’s like crossing paths with a ghost.

I found it so jarring
that it
inspired me to swap
my usual cologne
for a lesser known one,
which I mix with
another
uncommon fragrance
to create
my own
blend.

Girly?
Indeed.

But if I die
no-one will ever
be startled
by my ghost.

(Not unless
they know
which colognes
to mix.)