She’s beautiful to look at.
I try to ignore this as I listen.
Her fragrance wafts over me like steam.
“It’s oil,” she says, “Everyone is wearing it.”
I breathe it in, as I do her.
Is what I sense when she speaks.
Sure, it’s the move/LA/making friends/figuring it out/living a new —
I sniff her out with every moment, like a cat to a passing dog.
She plays with my hair.
God, that feels good.
I haven’t washed in days. Well, not a real shower.
I must smell like dog.
And we went hiking to boot.
Dry land, high temperatures and mounting sweat (blame summer).
My womanhood out the window/I should’ve shaved.
Her make up is soft.
Her lips natural.
Her smile just off reach.
Her eyes… calculating.
I ask for another glass of red.