I know the smell of everyone I've ever loved wanted hated lusted snorted like a dying drug addicts last meal
My first smelt of deities a mens deodorant for a boy who didn't know what he wanted, but he knew what he should. He was sharp, uncertain, his natural scent masked by an advert.
My second smelt of fields the earth was his roll-on and though he'd mask it in the oils of men, I knew he smell of a hearth, hormones and her heart on his sleeve. His scent was primal and I bathed in it's rawness.
My third smells of fire whatever he's burning, midnight oil, stress, nicotine, I can sense it soaked into his skin with sweat. Encased in fire, I suffocate on air nowadays. He reeks of home, lust, longing