They stand side by side,

chatting as if they’re friends,

but all they have in common is me.

The musky scent of his aftershave clashes

with the sweet cherry of her lip gloss.

The truth behind the combined scents

causes a sickness to bubble inside me,

but I’m frozen as I stand staring at

the sight of my lover standing next

to the object of my desire.

Her beauty is home to me.

The first time our lips met,

her strawberry lip gloss blended

delectably with my vanilla mint.

We explored our wants crouched

between parked cars in a darkened lot

until the day came when we saw each other

spread out on the bed, her pale skin

glinting in the wake of my tongue

and the strands of her ebony hair

fanning out on the pillow

in contradiction with my golden ones.

But his alluring appeal is at once

everything I fear and everything

I’ve always dreamed of.

My knees shake and my heart pounds

every time he winks at me and

I get a whiff of his aftershave.

To say that I love her

would be to reduce the depth

of my emotion down to mere words.

How long now have I envisioned

my future intricately connected with hers?

He isn’t much more than a stranger.

I mean so much more to her

than I ever will to him.

He’ll never sacrifice for me what she will.

Even now as I look at her,

her eyes flash me her blessing

as she steps away from him.

Leaving us.

I inhale the unfamiliar waves of masculinity

emanating from him as his arms embrace me.

The heady scent of aftershave and sweat is

so unlike her watermelon lip gloss,

but it awakens something inside me

and I realize that I never really had a choice.

His lips are rough but forcefully gentle

and I find a rhythm, chasing his tongue and wanting more.

When he lifts me up and lays me down

he brings my quivering body

to tear-provoking depths

that alarm him in their intensity

until I silence his worries with

my mouth, drowning us both

in the scent of aftershave and lip gloss.

He got me hooked on the scent of aftershave,

even now that he is long gone

and I am in the arms of another.

I’ve almost forgotten the taste

of her apple lip gloss.

So why then, do I find that every now and then

a certain beauty catches my eye?

A special type brimming with more cute than sexy,

with the same spunk in her step that’s in my own.

Why do I find myself transfixed on the sight

of long shiny hair falling over pale shoulders

and the thin fabric of a blouse clinging to skin?

At least I know I’m not alone,

for it’s not so infrequent

that I see a woman’s eyes linger on me,

glinting with the same sparkle

that must surely be in my own,

and I know we’re both longing

for the taste of cherry lip gloss

lingering on our tongues.