The ghost of his touch lingers in the air,
a scent of smoke that spirals from despair.
Each whiff of tobacco, a leap through time,
back to that night, that moment–a crime.
The cologne that mixed with the cigarette haze,
now a haunting that sets my thoughts ablaze.
Not just a memory, but a gut-deep feel,
every aroma makes the past too real.
I breathe in the past, it’s never gone,
fragrance like chains, keeps pulling me on.
Cologne and tobacco, in my mind they dwell,
a scented curse, my private hell.
It’s not just the smoke that makes me retreat,
it’s the trace of him that I meet.
In every crowd, every passerby,
I search for the scent, then I sigh.
I’m caught in a loop where senses betray,
taking me back to that fateful day.
I gag at the smell, a reflex so stark,
each inhalation leaves a mark.
No escape from the triggers I find,
in every handshake, I’m confined.
This olfactory prison, walls unseen,
where past and present convene.
So I walk through this world in wary fear,
every scent a reminder, too clear.
He’s gone, but the smell’s a constant foe,
in the fragrance of yesterday, I lose my tomorrow.