To a Boy; not passive, not present

You always smelled like Laundry detergent

and whenever I pass by the washing machine i feel

intoxicated.

your smell was so sturdy

and chemical

like the packaging on a newly waxed flower.

 

how I wanted to know

what was under the petals

and the soil

that was burning.

 

I could imagine a strange embrace

with my end, a soft wimper

and your end

mute silence

and the sweet smell of soap

that never scratched the surface.

 

give up on me,

I’m giving up on you

I wish the smell was pine

that love affair of mine

the load coming out sweet like sap

the days on a riverside

bending trees

and a whisper.

 

but of course

how can i expect that of you

when all i can smell is the laboratory,

the one that’s antiseptically

misleadingly

blank?

Copyright 2013 Golden Star Poetry

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