Vanilla to my aniseed,
wafting over my steaming cup
and kissing my face. To this day
a shadow of your scent remains
not as the ghost of cigarette smoke,
but as a dusting of pollen,
evoking fond memories of summer
and dances in the evening.
We were out of breath, flustered and red
with sweat tearing into our eyes
and our hands slipping like awkward laughter.
Once our fingers entangled we laid amongst the grass,
smiles settling on our faces
almost like an afterthought.
With every passing wind our hands became drier
until our palms were glued together
like we already were in our hearts.