I always thought that was just how your sweat smelt.
But the perfume of you couldn’t be bottled
Or sold in shops that didn’t care about the natural approach to beauty.
Mascara was your furthest push into that realm;
You never needed, never need, never will need to go any further.
I always considered that sweet and earthy scent yours,
Just like that sporty, masculine one your sister’s.
I understood why that fruity, feminine liquid wasn’t appropriate for your neck and wrists
So when I asked for it, and you gifted me another old spray you had laying around
I couldn’t believe my luck.
I am the type of body that absorbs the sugar of commercial,
The pink of Barbie and approaches all senses with the bouquet of my muffin top.
So when I dove nose first into the pools of that metallic, rich, raw, rusty scent,
I knew it meant I’d crossed into territories only blood knew.
It wasn’t your sweat anymore,
But it still lingered in the midsts of you.
Every time my neck screamed into my face I saw yours staring sweetly at me.
No longer are the days of stolen Tom Ford
Or pinching VS or punching BO
Because my index finger brings me to life with the smell of the mother
And my body holds more than just this sense of her.
It wobbled around in her belly for months
Before it was cradled in her arms.
I don’t remember what she smelt like then…
Human as she raised her own.
Her Süskind explains all of this; her Molecule always knew –
Now I’m part of this liquid gold,
I feel a part of that story too.
By Lyric Deep.