scent

I breathe the scent of a spring night,
freshly cleansed with rain,
the air is fine and clear and sweet.
Is that honeysuckle on its lips?
This I delight in until -
woe of most misfortune -
I pass cigarette smoke
and my lungs reject it.
Finally that dreadful second
is gone -
and my nose drinks in
the sweet spring smell again.
It happily remembers
other times I've smelled this -
and then all of a sudden
my mind brings up your scent again.
I'm struck by the fact that it has not left me.
I can conjure it at will.
And then a smile steals my features
and I want to bury myself in you yet again.