It is the smell of you.
The temperature behind your ear at 6.28am.
The scent of cookies wafting from a microscopic bakery
Nestled in the nape of your neck
Where my face lay nestled.
Perfectly unwanting; breathing you in.
Rendering you as indispensable as breath.
When I say I cannot live without you, it is this I mean.
My love, it is this.