Incense and Leather
by Andrea Vlahovich
He smelled like incense and leather
like yerba
like dried hay kept behind a red wooden gate.
His shirt off
mine too.
I buried my face in the salt of his chest
and lingered there
long enough to taste morning rising off his skin.
He tasted sweet like vanilla
but darker,
bitter like maté steeped too long.
A sharp inhale and I stayed there
breathing like a memory,
pretending time had stopped moving.
Outside
the city burned blue
spilling moonlight on the couch
where we forgot each other’s language.
Inside
the heater moaned,
the windows pulled cool into the room.
My mouth aching.
I wanted to bite
not to hurt,
but to savor
to worship his body beneath my lips,
to map him like a country
I’ve always dreamed of
but never entered,
to hold him in like water in my mouth.
But I didn’t touch,
I only breathed.
like yerba
like dried hay kept behind a red wooden gate.
His shirt off
mine too.
I buried my face in the salt of his chest
and lingered there
long enough to taste morning rising off his skin.
He tasted sweet like vanilla
but darker,
bitter like maté steeped too long.
A sharp inhale and I stayed there
breathing like a memory,
pretending time had stopped moving.
Outside
the city burned blue
spilling moonlight on the couch
where we forgot each other’s language.
Inside
the heater moaned,
the windows pulled cool into the room.
My mouth aching.
I wanted to bite
not to hurt,
but to savor
to worship his body beneath my lips,
to map him like a country
I’ve always dreamed of
but never entered,
to hold him in like water in my mouth.
But I didn’t touch,
I only breathed.
Andrea Vlahovich is an emerging poet from Canada, who lives in Buenos Aires. She is a student of French and Spanish, and her hobbies include photography, figure drawing, and tennis.