The ones I keep

He smells like rotten seaweed,
tangled on the beach,
we always skim grey stones,
throwing twenty each.

He smells like damp brown mud,
flat beneath our tent,
rectangles on the ground,
where the night was spent.

He smells like twice worn socks,
toes sticking through the holes,
heels dug into my lap,
soup steaming in our bowls.

He smells like morning breath,
waking me from sleep,
though there are nicer smells,
these are the ones I keep.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: