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

 

 

 

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