Your cologne is still on my dress,
and it's haunting me now.
Just when I want to forget you,
your cologne is on my dress.
And your shirt is still in my closet,
how did this all fall through?
Your shirt is still in my closet.
Sometimes I put it on and pretend, pretend you still care.
And your ring is still on my finger.
Was there nothing in that promise?
I remember that night,
the night we became one.
The night I'll have to tell my daughter about when she turns 14.
Maybe I should take it off.
I still remember your voice,
and sometimes I scream so loud I can almost drown it out.
-
Forget everything you know about love,
and ***,
and death.
Because when you walked into my life, I realized that everything I knew was a watered-down version of passion.
Your kiss is still on my skin,
burning me,
painfully this time.
I used to like the burn.
Not anymore.
I was to slice my skin off,
just to stop feeling the burning.
Why be scared of hell,
when I already feel it?
And my neck, my neck is still bruised,
my thighs-are still bruised.
My lips, my lips are still sore,
and my back-it's still bleeding.
Your taste-is still on my tongue,
and somehow it feels like you're still holding my hand.
Even though you're not.
You're using that hand to pull my shirt over my head,
and as you lean over me-
I can still smell your ******* cologne.
Try not to get it on my clothes.
After tonight, after tonight
I want to forget you.
So I'll surrender tonight, but only tonight.
-
Funny what you think of after the wreckage.
My limbs are still intact,
and you're still on top of me.
I promised myself it would only be one last time.
But then you smiled,
and held my hand,
and tied me to the bed.
And now, now I can't leave.
Because your cologne is on my dress.
Your cologne is on my dress,
and I'm tied to this bed.
And your hands are on my chest.
And your lips are on my neck.
And your voice is in my head.
I'm trying to make sense of this mess,
but I can't.
I can't when your cologne is on my dress.
-
You told me that you wanted to be the should for me to cry on,
and you didn't care
if I ruined your shirt.
Funny how it worked out,
because you're the one with your hands around my throat.
I used to ask for it,
not anymore.
Not since your strong hands and smooth wit were replaced.
Replaced by sloppy drunkenness and quick slaps across the face.
-
I don't mind you using me.
I don't mind you eating me from the inside,
out.
Because even though you make parts of my body light up and ignite,
and even though you'll talk to me until 6 in the morning,
and
even though you'll let me pick the movies, you won't care to know me.
You won't care to ask me 'why.'
Your hands will still be around my neck.
I will still be tied to this bed.
Your hands will still be on my chest,
and,
your cologne will
never
leave
my
dress.

"Cartier Independence,"
stationed behind the bathroom mirror,
lying in the glovebox of the car;
my father always found his way to it.
Along with the stench of smoldering incense when he recited his morning prayer,
his cologne lingered.

Sometimes I put on my father's cologne, and I cloak myself in his ragged musk.
It's not me.
I'm missing the depth of the cigarettes behind the glorious mountain fronted on his usual pack of Seneca Blue 100's;
I'm missing the sharp burn of the ***** which often comes in bottles;
I'm missing the tender rigidity of his calloused and gold-decorated hands.

I still wear it, though.
I still look in the mirror, watching us, and let my fingers press down on the nozzle of the cologne.

Do I deserve his scent?
Do I want it?

Do I deserve the comparison to him--
the same face,
same eyes,
same life?

Do I want it?

After years, my mother's gift from my father stands still,
buried under samples of Eau De Toilette.
He waits for my fingers to again press down and bask in acceptance.
He knows I will;

I want to use my own cologne,
but it all seems too childish -- too meaningless.

Tonight, along with the speckles of dust resting on the nozzle and the prints of my fingers,
I will smell of him,
talk of him,
think of him,
but I will wear my own cologne:
"Cartier Independence."

My Father wears a
Cologne of dirt and sweat,
cowboy hat and boots,
a moderately large belt buckle,
and a salt and pepper mustache.

When he sees me
his face lights up
and he embraces me
engulfing me in his
familiar scent.

"My baby" he murmurs
as his hands smooth my
hair. "Te Quiero Mucho"
he says as his lips make
contact with my forehead.

"I love you too much",
he translates. It feels as if
my heart is going to break
and my eyes well up with tears
"I Love You, Too" I choke.

This is met with another
embrace, kisses on my
cheeks, his stubble scratching
rather than tickling my skin,
and the touch of his forehead to mine.

Once a month for
16 years, this is what
has always happened. But
now the ritual is ended and my
Father's Cologne is only a memory.

In Kohln, a town of monks and bones,
And pavements fang’d with murderous stones
And rags, and hags, and hideous wenches;
I counted two and seventy stenches,
All well defined, and several stinks!
Ye Nymphs that reign o’er sewers and sinks,
The river Rhine, it is well known,
Doth wash your city of Cologne;
   But tell me, Nymphs, what power divine
   Shall henceforth wash the river Rhine?

What's your name? I'm not so sure I should tell you mine you seem like the type of guy I've known in the past. I always fall for someone that everyone says I shouldn't am I really that blind? I like your brown hair, it matches your eyes they're deep and pregnant trying to explode but you prefer to hide all of those lies. Are you capable of changing my mind? You smell like my past, the mix of cheap cologne and the thick smoke of cigarettes battling against each other but neither coming ahead. I hate to be so blunt, or is that what I'm supposed to say I don't want to seem arrogant, your teeth are straight and white your smile might make me forget everything I'm afraid to let go of can I see it one more time? Maybe we should keep it like this, stay lovers and never be friends. Use fake names and plagiarize words we both need to hear because your face tells me your heart is as broken as mine and neither of us want to love each other. Let's get drunk off of generic light beer and turn off all the lights. I just want to taste the stale menthol lingering on your breath trying to escape the malted beverage failing to cleanse your mouth, I need to absorb your kiss to remember a night so long ago, I want to close my eyes and go back in that moment where ignorance was my only friend. I'll pretend to be her if you pretend to be him, because we both deserve this desirable sin.

-----------------------------------------------------------­-----------------------------


Hey.
What's your name?
I'm not so sure I should tell you mine.
So please don't speak a word of truth.
You seem like the type of guy I've known in the past.
Dangerous and broken,
Tormented and dark.
I always fall for the ones I'm not supposed to.
Am I really that blind?
I like your brown hair,
Or maybe it's more black.
Either way
It matches your eyes
So deep and pregnant trying to explode,
but I can tell you prefer to hide all of those lies.
Are you capable of changing my mind?
You smell like my past,
the mix of cheap cologne and the thick smoke of cigarettes,
battling against each other but neither coming ahead.
I hate to be so blunt, or is that what I'm supposed to say?
I don't want to seem arrogant, but I think I just might.  
Your teeth are straight and white, beautiful in a way.
Your smile might make me forget everything I'm afraid to let go of,
Even if it's just for  today.
Will you burn me with your happy pain one more time?
Maybe we should keep it like this,
Stay lovers and never be friends.
Use fake names and plagiarize words we both need to hear,
because your face tells me your heart is as broken as mine
and neither of us are capable of loving each other.
Let's get drunk off of  this generic light beer,
Turn off all the lights.
I want to taste the stale menthol lingering on your breath
trying to escape the malted beverage failing to cleanse your mouth,
I need to absorb your kiss to remember a night so long ago.
I want to close my eyes and go back in that moment where ignorance was my only friend.
I'll pretend to be her if you pretend to be him,
because we both deserve this desirable sin.

Something is
simmering  *  
  ****      
His spice the stars*
His cologne heat up the
woods
Lips and taste boiling
The Green Irish Tweed
Epicurean love at
the Italian
Spice Epic Stadium

Here comes the
Sun the__?
Royal Mayfair
strikingly
My Fair Lady
The spice diction of words
Her name is Sage Lady Bird
You could feel her smile
shimmering

Carnal spice knowledge
Savory animalistic
Spice culture ******
Citrusy fancy dress
Not to panic
His Sunday gravy
Italian sauce garlicky  
She could win so pungent
Spicy lady Pagent

The poor stealing the
rich culture
Sage surrender like the Oz
Like Robin Hood

Spice of life this is our life
Top of the sea salt Spy
scouring
You better have a love
Like a deep pouring
Her Sage Genie bottle
on the stove
Her sheerness lascivious robe

The Meditteranean sea with
Four leaf clovers freeloaders
These cultures and eyes of
strength feature
There is no time to
break up for the love of a spice
Is this the human race
Fresh linens better company
What a primary
Oh! Hail Mary

Those ethnic spices
what a sensual smell
Sage pretty coffee cup show and tell
What a razzle top of her cake
The media takes over all
painted and swirled
Baked spicy finger she dialed

Through her locket heart sake
Recovered love reconciled
The Teddy Rosevelt or Chicago Bears
tight hugs of cultures

Hairy chest his smooth gestures
Culture rough and tough exterior

Like the smile beautiful mind
creature
Beyond to be seen
The Spices computer
world of devices
Strawberry fields forever
But what is forever more love
Crises

Do we always lose our stripes
Feeling layered with her cereal
Tony the tiger
Whats great about curses
Sage speechless can feel the
roar spicy mouth
Going South or North
Victorian corset sensual
Guity spice dark side of Goth
Hot desire from both
The pine needles
Christmas time
The mistletoe kissing pointing to the star
Wearing herself out with her
pointed pump shoe*
But losing her spirit what to
endeavor
*The Blue Horizon Spice Rub
The  pub the sky has no limits
to the Stars that twinkle
The Gods to their *****
Rip Van Winkle
Dry Vermouth or the Russian Roulette
French spice Crepe Suzette

"Adam I Apple Dante Jubilee
Eve was more like a neigh
Horse spicy slide Colonel Spicy mustard
Meeting General Lee Sage custard

Her handkerchief
with sage cut leaves
Hearing echoes what gives
Anyone's spice rack
of shoes engraves Sage leafs

Noone really knows for sure
She wore spice deep blue velvet
Jade Ring Brittish Colony
Stuck to her beliefs like a magnet

Eating vegetable and fish
Her best China ever find her dish

How the jade chandelier twisted
Became laughing like two musketeers
New York City love Serendipity
The Queen chair so domineer
'What Debutants"
Crazed like spices of mutants
The anger management getting
the evil out
The shoutbox strong clove spice
Sage was never outfoxed
Her **** jaded uniform
The firefighter Smoky the bear
  eyes of candlelight storm
didn't make it this year
Torn to tears like two
vultures of
the haunted night
He peddles fast
But the fear needs to disappear

Fresh lake smells fresh
as her breath
The culture and media
make tons of mistakes
She knows what she wants
Not a jungle of
poisonous snakes
He knows what he doesn't want
to tell her
Perhaps losing his
bark dog naps
The best part engage her on
Sage with a heart
The fruit her
flesh and blood
The blood on his finger
Her medicinal herbs
of China
The mason spice jar is empty
The full heart needs his half
Cream of the crop
Careless love accidentally
spice dropped
Sensual Chin like pine needles
The exception to the rule more leaders
Remember Every September
to leave your scent
We all have needs we want
Drinking all the flavors of Snapple
*Big waves of the ripple don't you
love her amazing dimples

(March 25, 2016 // 8:57 PM)

He's the kind of boy who will watch orange skies. He likes feeling burned while he admires them, he wants every sky to bleed colors that feel like fire on his ivory skin. He's the kind of boy who loves you most when you're highlighted underneath orange clouds, and once he sees you there, he'll picture you underneath them for the rest of his life.

He's the kind of boy who only wears glasses when he's home. He preaches about how he doesn't give a **** who sees him as the real him, yet he'll only be who he was born to be when the orange drains out. He's the kind of boy who looks at stars through black lenses as he wishes for more time, bravery, and soul; he's the kind of boy who has too much soul within himself, yet he swears he runs on nothing.

He's the kind of boy who protects you with words that cut at skin until it bleeds. He's the kind of boy who only ever shouts when he needs your heart to hear his heart loud and clear. He's the kind of boy to keep you safe with words that sizzle at your neck, leaving you red with his name engraved upon the spaces just above your collarbones.

He's the kind of boy who feels lonely. He's the kind of boy who chose electric blue to be his favorite color for a reason. He's the kind of boy who leaves you electrified, the kind of boy who makes sure you can feel the lightning of his being on every inch of skin, even the spaces he hasn't seen or touched yet. He's the kind of boy who cries in blue, the kind of boy who sees the world in shades of winter, though he favors heat, he knows the damaged parts of him feel cool and overpower the bits that want to feel warm.

He's the kind of boy who loved me in ways that I hated. He's the kind of boy who made me need him, and I needed him so much that he couldn't take it. He's the kind of boy who stopped loving me once we got too close, he's the kind of boy who ran away in fear.
He's the boy who will deeply attach himself to your insides, and then leave as soon as he makes a home for himself within your mind.

He's the kind of boy I loved until I forgot my own name. He was the sea, mysterious and hard to control. He was the blood that dripped from my lips as I bit them with every tooth when he showed me what kind of boy he can be when he forgets how to love.

He's the kind of boy who remains in scars. He's on my body forever, in places that nobody sees, on a skin that I am trying to crawl out of.

He's the kind of boy who doesn't realize he left me ruined, though. He's a boy who lives in constant halos, a boy who only sprouts the devil's horns when he's wired, so he doesn't remember how harshly he treated you the next morning.

He's the kind of boy my Dad warned me about. He's the boy who treated my Dad with respect up to the moon, yet my Dad could smell the devil's spirit on him like cologne.

He's the kind of boy I couldn't fight, the kind of boy I couldn't rip off without ripping off parts of me.

He's the kind of boy I should have closed my eyes for, the kind of boy I should have ran away from first.

Because of him, I am now the kind of girl who lives in a body that feels more like his. I'm the kind of girl who lets him come back when he feels lonely again, when I miss being electric and blue; I'm the kind of girl who waits for the kind of boy who will never love me right, or at all.

Because of him, I'm a girl who sees him on my favorite clothes. I'm a girl who can't look at street signs without seeing names on poles that marked promises we made in his car. I'm a girl who smells his devil's spirit cologne when I sleep upon my black sheets.

Because of him, I'm a girl who once admired orange skies because they were art in the air, but now I'm a girl who despises them because I know he'll always love them more than me.