The Smell That I am Missing


The smell of your shoulder,
The warm, mushroom dank smell of you when we have been fucking,
Fucking, we are bears standing with claws extended,
Our bellies hanging like tufts of ermine, that soft fur,
Teeth big and yellow, our breath closer than a cloud hanging over an airport,
I sniff for our smell in your armpits and down your ribcage,
I am a rat trying to gnaw my way into the cave of your heart,
I snort lower, kissing your thigh,
My lips soft on your skin, our smell wafting upwards,
Encircling us tightly.
I miss you already,
It isn’t like I’m some kind of bonded duckling,
Toddling after you all lopsided and starry-eyed,
But you text sexed me on Shabbat,
And now you have traveled back home,
Leaving me wrapped in my stinky sheets,
My hand stroking my damp cunt,
My nose seeking you in these ruins,
Remembering your smell.

About Avery Cassell

Avery Cassell is a queer butch San Francisco writer, poet, cartoonist, and artist who grew up in Iran.
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