By Connor MacDonald
Your scent returns
as if you’re a ghost.
I know that I yearn
For us to become one host.
Your sweetness burns my nostrils
Reminded of the gospels
Of your former affection.
When I dream about your nose
And the steam from your breath
My heart begins to feel a repose
When I awake, I feel like death.
Alone, with an aching chest,
Fully distressed,
Wishing you were beside me.
I tried to replace you
A new lover’s embrace
But your scent still lingers.
And my fingers remember your body,
I distract myself with my bawdy tales
But my heart is hung up on details.
I dreamt that you dream of us.
And I resent that you’re not treasonous
To your new lover.
It makes me uncover the affection for you
Your loyalty to the brand-new.
I can never recover.
As I feel the torment
of your scent.
The Philistine Review 
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