My perfume is sweeter

scent-of-a-woman

My perfume is sweeter
than Vegas,
than streets littered
with naked
cardboard women,
than flashing lights
and men
impersonating
Elvis.

My perfume fills up
this empty bed
with the way it felt
to lie with you,
cotton sheets
blending in with my
white satin
shoulders,
soft corners tucked in,
built for a king
when I am not even
a princess.

My perfume trails
after me
when I walk,
leaves lonely people
missing the ones who left them,
suddenly pining over
the ones that they left
and wondering why
nobody ever stays
happy
long enough.

My perfume is sweeter
than this city,
is sweeter than the city
I left,
is sweeter than the one
you were running from
and the one you are
running to,

makes you realize that I
am the only way
home.

© Michelle Awad, 2014

Photo by George Hodan (Public Domain)

The Shame of Shag
Unspoken Words