He died ages ago,
She was depressed,
Waiting for her body to be taken away,
He left behind only memories,
Every night she sleeps in his bed,
She can smell his scent in his pillow,
The clothes she wears,
All bear his scent,
He may have left nothing but vague memories,
But his scent diminishes his absence.

The sweet, toxic smell of her perfume
like poisonous berries
seeps through my veins,
saturates my heart,
and floats in my memory,
like that last sip of wine
before the haze.
Rocking my inner being
and tickling my carnal sensations,
until my body is as awake
as my soul is.
Cradled in her lingering scent
until it wafts away as she does,
leaving me lifeless on the floor.

Moments are touched only once,
held in our hands like a water droplet
under the July sun-
then quickly depart to join the clouds
far beyond our reach.
In such a fleeting world
sometimes it may seem as though
we sculpt our lives in sand.
Meaning is difficult to see
through the fog of futility.
Yet we carry on knowing blooming flowers wilt,
but their scent lingers among our memories
until a new spring comes.

You asked me what your scent is like.
You added a challenge by adding a twist to your question.
"What if you're going to describe it to a blind person?", you said.
I complained I'm tipsy and it's 3 in the morning-that question is too hard for me at this time.
Nonetheless, I drowned my face in your neck to breathe you.
"You smell like comfort, like clean fabric"
You weren't happy with my answer.
You wished I have said you have the scent of an *******.
Oh dear you don't, and I don't understand why you want to smell like one.
You wanted me to make a comparison between you and him.
I can't remember if I made one.
You thought it meant nothing.
You made me feel it meant nothing.
Honestly, I don't care anymore if it truly meant nothing to you.
The thought of it doesn't hurt.
You didn't know how much I adore the smell of clean fabric.
That scent takes me to my parents' house on a weekend-in my pink childhood room, resting on my bed with newly-changed sheets.
How I love that feeling-of calmness and safety.
It made me neglect I'm sad, lonely and afraid.
You were wrong about thinking it meant nothing to me.

When will the tide come in?
     When will it wash away the footprints you left in the sand?
When will the rain pour?
     When will it shower and clean the tracks you left in the street?
When will the wind pick up?
     *When will the breeze sweep away your scent from the house?

You're close;

I feel the sultry warmth of your breath caress my neck,
and the scent of your hair is an exquisite promise.

Without looking, I see the satisfaction in your eyes,

as I contemplate the delicious ambiguity of your whisper,
and bite my lip against the inevitable moan.

You smile, bestow a soft kiss upon my cheek, and walk away,

leaving me to stare after you in bewildered fascination,
my fingers pressed to the hunger you've quickened in my lips.

There is no touch, but sound and no taste, but sight
And I can catch a fleeting whiff of your scent
As you pass by me, trading it for my breath
That you steal, just like all of the unpaid rent
In my mind, the millions of thoughts you engage,
Your voice louder than any words on a page.

Streams of colour
In constant motion
showing shades of beauty hidden
Powered by the wind
As it caresses the river of scent
Gently, softly, lovingly
And moves through the rows
Never stopping, always moving
Following the wind
Lavender tributaries
in a Sensual  scented sea of colour
Never ending.