Lovestruck
I can feel you, even when you’re not here.
Every draw from a cigarette leads me to leaning on your shoulder in the night air, staring up at the moon from my balcony. When I inhale, I can smell your scent; you smell clean but masculine, just a hint of the vodka you just shot. As I feel myself lean into your shadow, I can feel the phantom of your body heat, the comfort in the strength of your shoulders, power brought on by athleticism, and manual labor. The tones of your voice are like honey to my ears while you remark on the shift of the seasons, once warm and comfortable when I came home to you just weeks before. Now there’s a chill in the air, but I welcome it if it means my body sinks into yours to stay warm. I’m breathless; whether it’s from you or the cigarettes we keep saying we’ll quit, I can’t be sure anymore. But every kiss steals the air from my lungs while it fills my soul, leaving me gasping for another.