none of my lovers has ever been what you could call the timid type

more like unruly dogs who do not forgive

each one smells differently i smell their smells in the bed i sleep

among them in not unlike the weather

fadeaushka smelled of russian vodka and his butt was the

whole thing siberia

tristan was a rescued cat and purred like one

adolfo smelled like the hall rug

not in a bad way but damp

michael was a baker of bread

whose track marks in the bed

smelled like yeast or an autumn’s

pond when summer had packed her bags