He smells like coffee on a lazy winter evening,
By me and my open book,
Wrapping the cold away as a shawl,
Bending so perfectly to match my form.

He smells like a newly varnished wood, on a sultry afternoon.
Listening to my worries amidst the television din.
Together we would believe the earth has stopped spinning,
And we would fight with so much passion.

He smells like my city, on ordinary nights,
Aloof from the festive fervor,
Privy to my desires, party to my adventures.
When we would share our sicknesses through contagious tears.

He smells like the rusty window grilles, drenched by a torrential morning rain
Lost in separate thought trails, yet meeting the same horizon,
Eyes locked in gulping down each others blues.
Praying for another day I get to live with you.


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