His scent drove her to distraction.
It wafted under her nostrils as she meandered through the day,
assailing her from under her nails, over her shoulder, out of her hair,
from the crevices of her body
where he had nestled.
His smell of intoxication,
their intoxication,
the heady fragrance of skin on skin
and seeping sweat
and rain
and longing
and babies-in-waiting,
cloaking the earth in an urgent, primal need,
festering, clawing for its right to survive;
swirling into somnolent minds
and jaded spirits,
leaving craving, anticipation,
and half-mouthed miss-yous
in its wake.
Vox populi