It lingers long after my lover's presence is no longer felt. I'll never tire of it. I will remember it until time becomes no more.
It is what alerts me to her proximity.
It is what sends chills down my spine. It excites me. And all it takes is one whiff.
The air conditioning unit starts up and a billowing gust of coolness carries on it the perfume I savor. The diversion is enough to alter my train of thought to my tenacious hunger. It becomes my Achilles heel. Her floral bouquet draws my senses to it with optimal precision. I drift instinctively toward it, only needing to be aware of her. She calls to me like a siren's song but without an utterance of sound. My heart aches at the thought of never having found such perpetual happiness.
I inhale deeply, filling my lungs to capacity with the sweetness that only she possesses. My nostrils flare and twitch as the familiar aroma permeates my clothing, my hair, my skin. I want more of it yet can only have a limited amount.
I want to bathe in her essence and never be free of it. The warmth it exudes is enough to light a fire in my very soul. The slightest shift of her hair against my nose sends a wave of desire crashing down on me. I float away on the sea of delectable rapture created by her existence.
Her scent is carried in everything—the sheets, the room, the house. Inescapable. There is nothing that can compare because it and she is the ultimate. The one thing I would suffer a thousand deaths for.
I carry it with me. Not in my pocket or on a piece of fabric, but within the makings of my being.