Creative Writing, Personal, Poetry

The Smell of Citrus (oxytocin sucks)

The smell of citrus

A distracted mind,

Thoughts of warmth,

Fears of excess,

A real illusion,

Easily stripped away.

 

The smell of citrus,

On her hands,

In her hair,

Washed away the scent

Of other,

Innocently accumulated,

Yet cursed with assumptions,

Longing, hushed glances,

Radio silence.

 

The smell of citrus

She wished he could smell,

Not that there was any

Expected exchange, except

Desire for a ritualistic

Pop of yellow on a dark screen.

 

The smell of citrus,

She feared he would never

Want to smell again.

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