The spring urged me
To smell her virgin smells
Full of life, vibrant
Dancing off mango trees…
While I languorously
Dwelt in my past
Full of your smell
Hinting his smell
And their never fading smell….
Yours was like you
Inconceivable, brash
Open and suddenly shy!
Salty and uncertain
Sour at some places
Misty and fresh
Always…mostly…
His was deep
Coarse and heavy
Musky and hinting
Selfish…
Cleverly guised
Under crisp paper like aroma…
Theirs was stable
Predictable almost
Silent and consistent
Meek yet enriching
Stoic in its bearing
And it began and ended
In me…
It’s not like my past is smelly and rotting
It’s just that I love thinking of it all
In smells, emanating from tiny bottles
Holding those magical moments
Each distinctly dressing me, completing me
Defining me…
Now, I need a new box, a newer tiny bottle…
The spring beckons…
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