The Lisel Mueller
book smelled like you, but
only for a moment. It retreated into the print
of the page. Or you’re in my pillows.

Eyes closed, I retrace moments
of our short romance together.
Arms spread into wingspan, I brush the
walls of this hallway toward the next threshold
I will know with you- for a moment, that scent remembers, and I imagine the three runes
you described as you held up your inner forearm.