She

smells like roses now

not knowing

it was the coconut scent

that drove me crazy

The rose perfume just makes me want to sneeze.

Last night, insomniac; her

arms around me

lend no solace, no comfort

they are the wrong arms

Also that damned perfume is giving me a headache.

I'll be moving soon

she misses me already, she says

There's nothing I can say to that

So instead I roll over

But I sure won't miss that perfume.

Later I stare at patterns

on the ceiling

Thoughts torpid and muddy; darkly existential

(dwelling perhaps on the

unbroken chain of wrong arms)

She sleeps beside me, sated

And I try not to sneeze.