It smelled like you.
Like wilderness, like us.

The window was white,
from all the broken breaths we took
on the fifth day.

Then all of a sudden,
it smelled like butter,
frying in a pan.

Smell of someone's 2 AM dinner.

It smelled like the life
we were supposed to get back to.

And then like grass,
wet, clean, recently cut grass
bursting with life of a summer
that existed only with you.

i swear,
like a suitcase or a bag,
you took it with you:
a burst of daisies sitting in your pocket,
waiting for someone to look deep enough
to find them.

Daisies, and rabbits, and butterflies.

And in between condensation
against a window pane,
and your lips,
you became my everything.

What are the odds…
butter,
butterflies…

We're just holding onto
a piece of melting butter,
fusing under our own sun.