I want to bury
My face in his neck,
To close my eyes
And breathe

I don’t want to smell him;
I just want to hide.
I want to submerge myself
In the refuge
Of that small space –
The darkness
The closeness.

If his arms
Happen to rise up
And envelop me,
I would be
All the more
If he plants
A small kiss
On my temple,
I would fall into the depth
Of the reverberating emotion
That would result
From that slight touch.

And space
Would cease to exist
Until our lower backs
Started aching
From the weight
Of both our bodies.

If only my yearning
Could overcome
The breadth of the sea
Between us.



i told him i missed his neck,
he thought i said lips.
i can never have enough of those,
but i discovered his neck this january.

it was, so smooth
and so very inviting.
i could rub my nose against it
and inhale its scent

(i can’t give him eskimo kisses;
his nose lies close to his face.)

i’m surprised at how much time i spent there,
curled up against him
with my face as close to his neck
as i could comfortably get it.

i sniffed him a lot,
another abnormality.
i felt my eyes wanting to look at him
to see if he was looking at me strangely.
i was behaving like a dog –
for some reason
my nose was always on him.

i loved all his colognes;
they were magnificent on him,
but i missed his naked smell
of iron, metal, steal –
whatever it was.
that smell was so strong
it made me think it was inside him,
that he was made of metal
and therefore just as strong.

i couldn’t smell him before i left.
i couldn’t smell anything.
stronger than my sense of smell
was the force of my tears
that suddenly rose up
in protest and threatened
to flood montego bay.

i told him i was leaving.
i was not happy with myself.
that was not the way i had wanted to say goodbye.

i went through security
and didn’t look back.

safe in bed and a sea apart,
two weeks later,
i told him i missed his neck.

via Daily Prompt: Scent