You always smelt <br />of cinnamon <br /> <br />as if it were your natural perfume <br /> <br />again and again <br />kissing your skin <br /> <br />little beads of perspiration <br /> <br />that I would lasciviously lick <br />from the back of your neck <br /> <br />your hair <br />piled up high <br /> <br />entering an empty room <br /> <br />without warning <br />the cinnamon of you <br /> <br />lingering <br /> <br />announcing you <br /> <br />your presence <br /> <br />clothes scattered across a floor <br /> <br />the invisible essence of you. <br /> <br />You always smelt of <br />...cinnamon. <br /> <br />And now, many years apart <br />(all that love) lost <br /> <br />I take a jar <br />from the spice rack <br /> <br />open it
