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.
Lauren Dixon 