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  • Writer's pictureKyx


on the sidewalk you pass me by;

you’ll never give me a second glance.

but the scent you leave behind:

in your wake, tells me that, perchance,

you had arranged a date that night,

sprayed a little cologne or perfume

dressed up real good and nice

hoping they’d say: let’s do this again soon”

in the school corridor you walk past,

i catch a whiff of your deodorant

then you suddenly disappear so fast,

but the scent’s thickness informs that

the insecurities are coming back

you want to paint an olfactory

picture of yourself: no lack

of girly sweetness or strong masculinity

but at the end, what do i even know?

you’ll probably even call me creepy

“why are you doing this?” i suppose

or at least i think i’m just nosy

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