I smell of fruit and the slow returning sun of springtime. I smell of tangy sweet-sour-sweetness; the tartness of a known flirtation between intimate friends. The heady musk of lovers’ bodies. I smell of the back of the neck of a sleeping child. I smell of Morocco rose dates with almond centres. Of mango slivers and cold yoghurt with steaming swirls of honey. I smell of clean laundry just collided with a lingering, lonely scent of the beautiful woman in the elevator. I smell of the nick of amber, a slice of tangerine, the twist of berry meringue and a sleek vial of patchouli.  

I think I smell of love. Which means I must smell of you.