Flesh and Fabric

There's a tree

that overhangs my road.

It smells a little bit the way

you taste.

It's a tricky,

hard-to-pin-down smell.

It reaches out to me

on the wind,

enticing, only to turn sour

as I draw close.

I want to bury my face in it -

I want to cut it down.

I could so easily

touch its glossy

leaves

and believe

that their vivid colour

will be enough.

I could happily burn it

and dance in its ashes.

Smear them on my face and

into

my hair.

Revel in the charred,

tangy reek

and carry an ash-scent version

of you

as I left.

But I'm afraid

of it never washing off.

That I will carry the traces

of you

forever.

There's nothing left

except to walk

another way.

To drag myself

the longer,

darker way

home.