You can see them in the picture
but you can never smell them.
Even though you were right there, with them,
their sweet scent filling your nose as you
held the frame, made the shot,
trying hard not to trample,
not to mow down that beauty with your clumsy footsteps.
I had a lover once.
I look at his photograph, know I loved his scent,
a smell that I can no longer remember.
I only remember the doing of it,
breathing in his skin like air,
licking the light sweat off his body as we coupled.
I know I loved that smell,
but some things cannot be preserved or held,
no matter how hard you love them.
Beth Firestein