Pant Scent


She bought the underwear
I am wearing,
The blankets I am sleeping in:
The pots I am cooking in:
The lotion I am smearing on my skin;
All I have are her pants
To remind me of her beautiful scent;
I am tired of living like a fool,
Away from the only love I know;
I didn't want to write,
I am having strange dreams
I don't know how I will make this right;
But I just have to.

Satan hates the best of relationships,
For certain,
This time he won for the last time.

Now I am sleeping with her pant
On my nose,
Just falling short of licking it!
Copyright © | Year Posted 2018

Poem

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