Her Pillow

Memories of courting my wife — and the memories from the night before.

The arrival: sun-dried laundry and a breath of soap-clean aldehyde — the sheet you washed, pressed and smoothed for her.

The heart: she arrives. Jasmine air and powder, iris like vintage make-up, a flicker of rose-cassis — her perfumes drifting in layers, hairspray lacquer still holding, coconut cream on warm skin.

The settle: the morning after. Warm musks pressed into cotton, amber and a trace of something animal — her skin where she lay, clean sheets that aren't quite clean anymore, and you wouldn't have it any other way.