there are certain tastes of you
I don't think I'll ever be able to forget.
like coffee,
how you put too much sugar,
and not enough creamer,
and I hated it when I kissed you.
yet I find myself in the morning,
when it's too early and I'm too unaware,
adding less creamer and more sugar,
for another taste of you.
when your lips touched mine,
when our tongues intertwined,
it was that coffee mixture,
and the mint gum you always had
in your mouth after a smoke break.
I never knew exactly what gum you always had,
only what it tasted like.
but I've experienced that flavour enough that,
if I ever experienced it again,
I could probably pinpoint it as yours.
the smell of smoke has never been satisfying,
nor has it ever been enjoyable,
not to me, at least.
but when I'm on the sidewalk,
and I'm passing someone on their smoke break,
it's like everything blurs and that person is you.
because I remember the smell of that smoke
ingrained in the sweatshirts you let me wear
when I was too cold.
and I remember that taste on your tongue,
and in your breath when you whispered
my name onto my lips.
I don't think I miss it,
but there are certain tastes of you
I don't think I'll ever be able to forget.