I open a pink bottle.
(anti-bacterial moisturizing hand gel,
to be exact.)
"Sweet pea."
And it smells like you.

Like summer
and spots of shadows
of leaves of trees
on the ground
the ground with grass;
I can't even remember what grass smells like.

It's something I've lost
something I've looked for
without knowing it
and again found
without knowing it.
And I don't know whether
I wanted to find it
or not.

It could ruin me.
The scent of
you
right here next to me.
It could fucking kill me.

Because I'm so desperate
for you to say something
to pull me back
make me have to come back
whatever it takes
that I start hearing it in my head.
I hear your words
the way I want to hear them
the way I need to hear them.

But when I talk to you like this
and all you can manage to say
after months and months
is,
"I guess."
I start wondering
how in the world
a pink bottle
of anti-bacterial moisturizing hand gel
could have reminded me
of you.