Blistex Voyeur
Stopped again at another red light, my breath is crystal against this cold�
My lips are chapped and sore, crumbling from disuse and neglect�
I dig through the depths of the glove box for some relief, but it only smells of you�
My mouth tingles and I inhale your sad memories�
It smells of winter; of tasting hunger and desperation on your cracked smile�
It smells of the you I once knew and the me who has long since packed up and moved on.
Memories are always sneaking up on us, cloaked in some old chap stick, or sweater that was borrowed and never returned�
These little transgressions never cease to take me off guard as I am transported back in time, into someone else�s history entangled and twisted with mine.
Like two hooks on a line...