It's quite a shame, really, how i remember you by the way my skin smelled when your arms were soaking it all in. arbonne and eucalyptus, peppermint and cotton candy heady on the edges of your breath as you exhaled on the ridges of my collarbone. would you still love me now that i smell of cigarettes and mourning of mornings, of wh_re and whoever i was when you decided i wasn't worth it? behind my chest beats the same vessel i said you possessed completely, but that is now in the possession of my own frail hands. i no longer trust myself to care for the women that reside beneath my tender skin, the vena cavas and my dear aorta. they writhe and cry at the sound of your name, and it's beginning to make me short of breath and sight. i only recognize you by the scent of euphoria by calvin klein, my pomegranate soap that translates to the summer i fell for you behind my drooping eyelids. winter and sweet cotton sugar was the feel of that fur blanket and your warm hands on my chilling feet, the texture of your red couch and how it hurt my neck to kiss you. of all our memories i never want to remember your face, the way your plastered smirk was mocking me on your sculpted cheeks and brow. it would suffice to remember the sharpness of your hipbones and how they swelled my lips, the small of your back when i hugged you from behind; the pockets of your shirts and pants and how i would discreetly slip my hand inside, how quickly i couldn't undo the buttons on my favorite blue shirt you only wore but twice. the ladies that live to keep my breath steady have failed to do just that, skipping breaths and beats that i need to remind myself of why you left in the first place; you only cared about my mouth and what it did when it was loose and lost in the shadows of my naivety. i gave you my fingers and my shoulders, my cheeks and the gentle curve of my spine, the twining of who i was beneath the skin you loved so much. but all you had ears and eyes for was my sinner of a mouth, that betrayed you and your beautifully childish smirk.
