[Corneac]

I hate that smell,
What is it? Cheap soap?
Reminds me off him,
He’d lean over my bed
and just breathe over me,
Drum tobacco, that smell,
Funny, really, or almost
the hollow laugh of irony,
How I just smoked a smoke,
of filtered drum tobacco,
and I just washed my skin
with the same cheaply smelling soap,
and now I breath on my knee,
on the mozzy bites and hair,
of the boy that was,
and is now me,
and smelt the smell of him,
and cringed,
of the him,
still on me