She rarely wore perfume...rarely adorned herself with anything except the simple lotions and potions from her morning...but there was an alchemy, her skin and the liquid applied and it bloomed like a flower to a bee...and if I happened upon her and grew impolitely close I could tell...I could detect. Perhaps she had merely applied for herself...but a glaze against me...the way that bees generate static electricity, and upon landing on a flower upset the balance of pollen and it attracts and clings...and I go about my day, awash in the pollen of you, forgetting other flowers because I am filled with you.
Other times it infused upon my clothes...this scent rubbed into me...carrying the masculine part of me and the beguiling portion of you...I would smell it on my tee shirt...the thin layer between us...the friction upon us and you rubbing into me like a child furiously crushing a crayon against paper...leaving tiny bits of colors and wax and marking me...only for me to find later the delicate drawings that you had left on me...nicks, marks...the scent of you in an afternoon. The delicate delicious sweat of you.
That rare, vintage collection of inhalations that were altogether familiar but foreign as well because they didn't happen daily...perhaps not even monthly...but perhaps just once it happened it became a beacon, a return that I could gladly find in the dark, despite a distance or a calendar...a beckoning...the vampire-like desire only growing in proximity...if I should be so lucky.
And in that proximity it is also easy to admit the outline...the shape...forged as strong as if honed by a blacksmith but that simple shape of you that I can detect from afar...the fit you make in my lens...the familiar, even from a great distance. The simple silhouette...the walk, the gait...the hair, the shape.
I can see you coming. I have seen you coming. One so near, one from afar. But the same delicate shape, the plunge into the forest of flowers and instantly recognizable as unique.
It is the shape of you coming towards me, and in my mind I can already detect the scent of you...it is in the collision of us that my memory flares and the static electricity between us merely allows the pollen of you fall upon the parts of me that I can take away and be reminded of you when I am far away.
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