In Remembrance

I don't remember his scent.

I only remember fresh musk and dew
sweat hidden in his sudden fragrance. How skin
meets beyond pheromones and mutual attraction
fire and desire and the chain to cause his reaction.
A smile.
gleaming white teeth
filled with shiny pearl possibilities of

tickling my spine in the nape of my neck
brings the thrill to me.
i begin to remember.
remember his smooth walk of gliding asphalt
and what I call swag. Smoke bellowing from his lips
cigarettes of menthol in a wisp of his drag.
and his talk.
the way he would command his voice
in clear octaves, bounce several degrees
and be a lyrical gift
go deeper, deeper still
into jazzy voices and sweet hellos
hidden goodbyes and empty cries.
he was mine.
I was his
and

I don't remember his scent.

Don't remember his
birthday which to pop out a cake suit-less
anniversary marking a date full of love excess
his favorite food he often devoured
his special spot that gave me reign
of power.
less
I am. Full of rich stories and
perplexing mysteries.

Oh, my sweet love
I do not repeat history.

-b.r.rivera
#30in30
Poem 17 of 30, April 2012