The smell of clove and Old Monk wafts in the air as the door opens.
I am just looking out of the window, marveling at the greens and reds
Peeking out of the whites. He is my personal fragrance, my addiction
He envelopes me in a bear hug and nuzzles me at the neck.
“My wife is at home,baking for my son”he sighs
I want things that I can’t have. Yet we stand like this.
At least I can have a joyful Christmas.
Exploring a weird variety of themes I tell you. Let me know if this is a success. Do check out poetryhive for the prompts