scent
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The mangos are nestled in separate padded hollows, the market stand only a few feet wide. I gently pick one up, inhaling the glorious juicy aroma. I close my eyes, and stand for a few long seconds, allowing the scent to transport me back.
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I am on the third floor when the entry door shudders open, disgorging an obscenely handsome male-god in a dark blue shirt. I stop hard to avoid a collision, my lips parted, to find myself staring straight into his delightfully dark eyes..
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I sniff my arm, investigating, and realise that I can smell my recent lover on my forearm.
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It’s good to be home. I very much relish the periods of time I spend in my oasis of comfort.
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Scents . If there is one sense that overwhelms my self-control, it’s the wonderment of scent.
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I sit, feeling the cool air on my bare arms, the way it makes my soft cotton skirt dance around my calves.
Soul Journal 