I breathe you in.
When you notice your hoodie missing, I’ll lie and say that it must’ve ended up in my luggage by mistake.
For my sake, you better believe it.
It smells distinctly like fruity candy and soda.
Concerts and festivals and late nights under stars.
Bonfire smoke clings on, a ghost in the snow,
sharp edges overlaying the superficial first impression
as if to say,
“What? Did I surprise you?”
Some would say that sours the experience. I think it adds interest. It’s much more alluring than
whatever perfume your sister wore,
whatever energy drink you spilled on the sleeves.