Senses

I feel so cold
On hookers and gin
This mess we're in
       -- portishead

He lies alone with her scent. Even now it's fading. He wants to dwell in it, to let it surround him and envelope, a blanket, a duvet, to warm and recall. He paid the price, it cost him, so very dear. When he wakes in the morning the scent has gone, the vapour evapourated, a memory he can’t bring back for all he tries, and with that loss he knows not who he is. He lies and rolls into the empty space, vacant and alone. And with that scent leaves his love. And with that loss leaves something he never had.