70 words of promise

I can smell him on my skin. Warm. Sweet, almost fecund. With just a tinge of his cologne. He lingers in the air long after he is gone.

I can imagine the press of his full hand on my back, pulling me close, my nose nestles in the hollow of his throat. I close my eyes and inhale.

I would know his scent in a crowd. He smells like promise.