The scent of lilac and cigarette mix to form our scent. Bodies weeping sweat melts my heart like butter. Your 5 o'clock shadow rough against my skin like a porcupine running its quills down my body. Sweet kisses bitting mango flavored lips. Sending chills through me. Filling me with desire. Silently begging for my panties to be removed and lose myself in you.

Lilac scented skin and nicotine flavored lips;

no amount of mouthwash could cover up the cigarette on your breath.

The aroma of mango and peach shampoo filter through your porcupine hair and leave me breathless;

gasping for air.

I feel your heartbeat beneath my fingertips;

I let it guide me through the storm of emotions that are campaigning to wreck our ships,

for good.

You reach out to caress me,

to access me, but the damage has been done;

it's hard to cope when panties and training bras were taken off by those you trusted more than now of those you've lusted.

You speak my name,

telling me everything will be okay, that scars'll heal.

I long to believe that's true;

but butter socks don't leave a bruise.

You whisper in my ear and I begin to melt;

I tell myself I'll believe you this one last time and I settle down for you to sing me tragic, late night lullabies.

How do you arrive at these combinations? This is clearly a recipe.

1 pair panties

2 sticks of butter

3 cigarettes

4 porcupine quills

5 lilacs

6 cheese melts

7 ripe mangoes

Puree lilac into mango. Smoke one cigarette. Rub yourself down with 2 sticks of butter and then melt the cheese on your smoking lips. Smoke another cigarette. Finally, remove cheese and use porcupine quills as skewers. Coat with lilac/mango puree. Smoke final cigarette and serve chilled.

A wilted lilac,

The faint scent of cigarettes.

"I know that he was here,"

I whisper underneath my breath.

Melting into the mattress,

I forget how much he hurt me,

And the feeling of my body crashing in the wall.

And then I see panties throw carelessly on the floor.

Turning a corner,

I began to feel eyes on my back,

A gaze sharp as a porcupine's quill.

I see a face sweet as butter,

And towering over her,

My ex-lover.

I can smell her cheap mango scented perfume from here,

And suddenly I'm sick.

"Get out."

You sigh almost angrily as you flick through your closet's hangers, trying to decide on a shirt. "Come on, Mika," you scold past the mango Dumb-Dumb between your lips, "you want to impress him, don't you?" Probably not the shirt with a porcupine in a tree, you're not that into animals anyways. Another no to the one tiled in tiny watermelons. You finally settle on a daffodil-yellow tanktop and a black-and-gold plaid hoodie.

Next, you waltz over to your dresser, pulling open the top drawer with a hum. Underclothes next. After much flitting and flinging, you find a matching set; a deep chocolate brown with butter-yellow lace trim. The panties say "I ain't your baby" across the butt. Pulling on white jeans and your tops on after them, you slip into a pair of rugged black boots, then practically skip out to your car to drive downtown, crunching on your sucker in nervous excitement.

He's waiting there, at the old café. He's slouched in a metal-latticed chair as he smokes a thin cigarette, clad in a purple-white-grey-black striped tee and faded bluejeans. A cream beanie rests on short curls dyed lilac. You beam as you park hastily, throw out your sucker stick, and practically fall over yourself getting out onto the sidewalk. Your first internet boyfriend is absolutely /adorable./

"Palloix!" you shout/laugh, and he jolts, pale green eyes wide as they search for the person what called his name. Spotting you, he smiles lopsidedly, waving you over.

"Hey, Mika. Surprised you got the pronunciation right, you damned American." God, his French accent is to die for. At his quip, you feign hurt, a hand over your ample chest as you flop down onto the empty chair across from him, and your bright red hair flops right behind you. "You wound me, Frenchy. I'm sooo sorry we don't have good enough baguettes and towers for your high-class tastes." He laughs a beautiful laugh, actually smiling, and you might just melt right here.

You think this might go really well.

The girl was beautiful on the outside like a lilac but her inside spirit were horrible like bad cigarette breath. I ignored everything she told me it was like her words rolled of me Like butter melting on warm bread. When she talks to me I feel fooled instead of boxers it's as if I wear panties instead. Trying to understand her is insane it's foolish. It's like eating a mango with no hand while the mango is stuck to the porcupine. Such thing is in unheard of.

You were always the thing that was going to kill me.

People have different ways of letting their lives slowly die, and you, would be the reason on my autopsy. You chose a cigarette to be the cause of your death. Bitter, yet left you with a certain satisfaction I could not give you. No matter how low that lilac dress was, or how much mango Shea butter I wore, you would not let me in. Even after you would slip my panties off, you would light a cigarette to keep your passion burning, because I was just not enough. You were like a porcupine with the way you kept me out with sharp jabs and pointed looks that would make my heart melt even though those things were not intended to bring me to my knees. God, you were the worst. But I don't think I could ever stop loving the way your cigarette light danced on the wall. Even after you've broken my heart.

With a smile like a lilac

It's no question

Why I melt like butter

Each time I see her

I want to be with you

Like a smoker wants a cigarette

No panties necessary

Just your presence

Sweeter than

Every mango in the world

Just don't leave the horizon

Or better yet

Be the sun that stays all day

Lest I reman just be another

Old porcupine