Your soccer sweatshirt doesn’t smell like you after a long day on the field anymore, but I wrap myself up in it and wear it, anyway
I used to love the way you played
Your black Nike sweats don’t smell like you anymore, but when I’ve worn them for three days straight and finally wash them, I pull them out of the dryer and hold them up to my nose, anyway
I used to love the way they slung low on your waist
The bear doesn’t smell like you anymore, but I nuzzle my face into its plush fur and think of you as I fall asleep, anyway
I used to love the way you cherished kids’ comfort toys

These days, the boys in my life leave their scent behind
Hours later, I still smell like the metallic, grimy sweat of the football player 
Days later, I still smell like the cigarettes and weed of the college drop-out 
Weeks later, I still smell like the cologne-covered flannel that I stole from the boy who kissed me again and again as I prayed that, this time, he might stay

These days, the boys in my life leave their scent behind
But as I sit on my stained bed sheets and take in the sweaty, smoky, musky scent that has come to live on my skin
I put on your sweatshirt, slide into your sweatpants, and wrap the bear’s arms around me
And try to remember the sweet but fleeting scent of the most beautiful love that I’ve ever known