Shaving Cream

With that first marshmallow puff, it all came rushing back. He came rushing back in an olfactory wave.

After all this time he was here again in my bathroom, smelling the way he did once his face was smooth to the touch. As if his freshly shaven face, a whisper away from my own, was ready to drown me in his long, lingering kiss. A kiss that made me weak at the knees and creamy wet.

In the beginning it was the scent of new love, of renewed love after a long absence, of a lust and desire so intense it might burn us up.

And in the end it did. In the end, the aroma imposed on me daily spoke only of our alienation. It told only of the way we avoided each other’s lips. No longer weak at the knees, we were both merely weak, unable to find an honest way out.

While this scent reminds me of that time and that man, it also makes me hopeful for the possibility of another loving man whose kiss will leave me breathlessly strong.