He wore the scent well. His body
chemistry matched the chemist’s
dream so perfectly that just a waft
caused my knees to quiver and
my heart to flutter. He wore it well;
better than any that thought they could,
he was the only that should, others
stunk like skunks buried in aged trash.
He wore it well and in every instance
that I was allowed near him I became
hopelessly intoxicated. He smelled
like love, and I was deeply in love
with his scent and with him. He
epitomized “man”: husky, musty, tall,
sexy, smooth, genuine and reliable and
in love with me too. Sadly, our story
was never really meant to be, time and
life tore us apart… My nostrils wept
for the loss of his scent, my heart
weeps for the loss of its equal. And
now I am doomed to walk the world
seeking the smell that won control
over all my senses, knowing I won’t
succeed. I am destined to fail, after all
it was only exquisite on him, only perfectly
matched his chemistry. He wore it well.

© 2014 Dara Kalima


Black Man, Black Woman, Black Child