i cant help but look at you,
your face always smudged with engine grease,
always smelling of tires and hard work. i cant
help but reach for you, with your worn out hands
that you stretch and flex, so sore after hours
of twisting wrenches and battling bolts that would
rather stay trapped in metal than come loose. i cant
help but fit myself against you, inhaling the smell
that is undoubtedly you, as your dirty hands cradle
my head against your chest, you whisper "princess"
and inhale the scent of my hair. you say you love me
because i always smell clean, vanilla, cookies, lemon,
always reminding you of dessert and summer, a relief
after that shop that by turns reeks of gasoline and oil,
sparks from drills, the din of sweaty men who fell into
bed without a shower, hoping cologne would cover the
smell of tires and tired bodies.
i cant help but look at you, when
your sleeping next to me, exhausted
with your mouth open, and your hands
curled with mine, you murmur my name,
turn over, and i fit your body to mine.