Kisses that taste of pho and vanilla
On the good days
Whiskey and cinnamon on the bad
The scent of sweat mixed with weed mixed with vanilla
On the good
Not close enough to know on the bad
A touch soft, a breath in my ear, a kiss on my neck
If things are good
But when they aren’t
Ice
Cold
Stone
A glare into nothingness, stabs right to the gut
Left breathless
On every good
And on the bad
