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Caroline Ward Mar 2019
I put sun cream on in the bedroom
You told me you liked the smell.
Later, sand stuck to it
When your hand was on my thigh
And your tongue in my mouth.
I tell my mother but not my friends
Because it wasn't as good
As I thought it would be
And I'm worried I did something wrong.
The next day
I avoid your gaze in the cafe
But you see me and
You pay for my ice coffee.
We go for a walk
I'm too awkward to say a thing
Our hands nearly brush, never touch.
We reach the pier
And I feel comfortable enough
To tease you about
Your Hawaiian shirt.
You're bashful, tell me it's second hand
And it smells musty, like dust
I suggest sun cream
And you smile, it's not awkward anymore.
You walk me home and
Kiss me before I go in
I thank you for the coffee
And watch as you walk
Down the path
Glowing in the evening sun.
Summer ends
And you promise to call
But never seem to find the time.
I watch your life unfold on Facebook
And we become strangers.
But I still think of you
Whenever I smell
Sun cream on my skin.
Anne Molony Aug 2017
It's funny how we relate certain smells to certain things
like how when I smell suncream
I smell summer
I smell days at the lake with school friends
I smell drunk, early morning conversations on rooftops
I smell sun and sea

Perhaps, that is why Martha will stop
at the perfume shop when we pass by it
always searching the second aisle from the back
bottom right, sometimes, bottom left
to see if they still sell it

She'll walk out smiling, stinking of Cinnabar
Blushing
I'll catch her nose in her sleeve later on
walking home
in the park
at the bus stop
I'll wonder what she's really smelling
Who she's seeing
Even when it's scent has faded and can't be made out any longer

— The End —