(in lavender and leather)

He wore it like a dare,
not cologne,
but a memory distilled in musk and midnight.
Taboo, it whispered.
Not just the scent,
but the way he leaned in when no one was watching,
when everyone was.

A spritz behind the ear,
a glance that lingered,
long enough to be noticed,
short enough to be denied.
We met in the aisle between
body spray
and
body shame,
and chose the former.

Was it the fragrance
or
the friction?
The way his laugh tasted like rebellion,
his wrist flicked like a secret handshake
between sinners and saints.

We kissed where we shouldn’t,
beneath a sign that said
“Men’s Grooming,”
and left with nothing purchased
but everything claimed.

Taboo, he said,
is just another word for what
they wish they had the courage
to feel.