The path was interrupted by traces of charcoal. Small pieces of black that would ruin my special shoes. I knew this was where they had been and stopped for a time inhaling the mossy damp air and holding my head sideways like a dog sniffing for the last hint of her; her code.
When I believed she had left me I had spent that afternoon mauling her left behind shirt, desperate to resurrect her through the scents of her body, ferreting out the deep unsweet raw emanations from her skin. Now here, on this summer path, I had become a hound, a curious relentless creature with just this mission, to hunt her down, to hold her without fear and never, never let her go.
Lime green, balsam, a metallic edge to the air and then the lily of the valley disappearing through the trees just to the right of me. The air was layered with promises of her and each steady step I chose became almost a sexual act as I moved nearer her physically, tracking her through her smell, her trail. From the first time we met this had been the way of our relationship, our scented adventure. For scents bind us, they tell us stories we have to hear, they sweeten life itself.
The tenderness of your fragranced flesh – I can read the air.
I am an embalmer of your scent.
Let me tell you my story then, our story and for that I will have to begin not at a beginning but in a room that is almost an aside, and then you, like me, will find her.
