he smelled like books and cigarettes

and the sad smile he wore was almost as loose as his

shirt.

 

he smelled like beer and his dog Rocky

and continued to even after Rocky died from being suffocated from the smoke of his

loneliness.

 

he smelled like comfort and basements and he held the weight of the whole house on his shoulders.

 

he smelled like crossword puzzles and pen ink and he wrote his woes in the small square

Boxes.

 

he smelled like bird feed and winter and wrapped himself in a blanket of his love for us but it never made contact with his

skin.

 

 

he smelled like head and shoulders and listerine and his soft words fell off his tongue like a waterfall of

feathers.

 

 

he smelled like closets and flannels and wore shirts with sleeves too long for him to grasp the

ends.

 

 

he smelled like woodchips and sawdust

but he never smelled like himself because

 

 

he smelled like books and cigarettes.