i remember your smell

from the chess evenings
the packs of cigarettes intertwined with your musky perfume
the heat of your hands wrapping me up in bed
in the mornings the smell was always too fresh for me
it tasted coming out of some fashion magazine
but the tangy closet odour, left on the carpets of our small villa by the sea
the good old days when we had a carpet to play on
the later wooden floors never did the same for me
but then we had the library where the books were secret guardians to your musk
i wear those books you left me but they still don't wear me
they still act like gatekeepers of those long lonely smokey chess nights
of when you used to put me to sleep