after Jameson Fitzpatrick
The vinegar tang of a glass of wine
left out on the counter overnight, the hint
of cumin on your fingertips, dried lavender.
All this is the smell of you in summer,
and now it is history. I woke alone
and slid my legs into the twin flannel
tunnels of my sweats, and it was history.
I walked down to the 7-Eleven
for a Big Gulp in lieu of coffee
and this ill-considered choice