Sea-Salt Ice Cream

My bed still smells like sex.

Correction:

My bed still smells like the two of us intertwined,

like two galaxies coalescing,

two hearts beating,

two moons setting at once.

My bed still smells like sex.

It smells like salt water and star dust,

tastes like vanilla incense and unbreakable passion,

rocking hips and wild abandon,

fists through hair and a desperate plea:

Don't stop, don't stop, don't stop,

Filling holes we thought we'd left empty

long ago.

My bed still smells like gasping moans

and gripped bedsheets

and tangledtangledtangled legs

wrapped anchor-tight around waists.

It tastes like exploration,

like a psychedelic compilation of hopes

and dreams

and needs so tidal-strong.

Come home, he said,

and so I did.

My bed still smells like us.