I wonder if you can smell me in your sleep, colouring your thoughts and invading your dreams. I have marked you with my scent, putting it on your skin, your lips, reminding you that I am here, reminding you who you belong to.
I like having you smell of me, walking around in the world like a shadow of me, wafting around you as you go about your day, a hint of me touching you unexpectedly when you turn back on yourself.
I like having you smell me also, and I know you bring the scent to your nose when you want to feel close and I feel you breath in deeply, sucking me into your lungs to bring and keep me there, touching every cell, unwilling to let the air back out, trying to taste the scent on your tongue and all the way to the back of your throat and inside you.
I wonder if you can smell me in your sleep and in your wakeful moments and when you aren’t paying attention and when you are and when you see something that makes you think of me and when you see nothing and are thinking of me.
Have I marked you with my scent enough so that you just smell me, anyway and always?