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I wish I could bottle your scent, my love,
a fragrance that I would lament,
when you aren’t near,
a dab there and here,
would trigger nostalgic descent,
Sweet notes from your shoulder—
when it would get colder,
my nose burrowed into your chest, my love.
I smelled your embrace,
brushed your lips, had a taste—
and now I can’t get give it a rest, my love.
I’m desperate to sense your caress, my love.
This sense takes much more to express, my love.
A soft sound or a motion
won’t calm my devotion
because as of now I am obsessed, my love!
And this feeling cannot be repressed, my love!
I’m desperately needing to rid of this feeling
because needing is much like a noose, my love!
Tying, constricting, all too self-inflicting,
a twinge that makes me want to cringe, my love,
a rusted and deadly syringe, for an addicting binge—
now my soul has a singe, my love!
I crave you, I need you,
I hopelessly heed you,
which is precisely why, understand, you and I,
should go out on a date around 8, my love.