on my back, against my scalp.

scratching my arms.

one night, laying together in my bed, i watched her paint them.

long strokes in gentle light.

she always had a deep, spicy smell to her. her hands rested on propped up knees as i moved an arm under her, to pull her slightly closer, just so i could inhale her along her neck, the only ticklish spot on her.

we were both sitting up in bed. she moved further into my arms, wrapped around her, and i watched as she began painting my nails.

i didnt stop her. i didnt want to break that contact.

her back against my front, her arm wrapped around mine, her hands holding one of mine.

i closed my eyes, rested my chin on her shoulder, and just breathed.

in came the smell of her, in came the smell of paint, in came the feeling of her hairs tickling my cheek.

i fell asleep like that.

she left.

but she left after sliding me down in bed, making me more comfortable, scratching the back of my neck like i liked.

but liked only from her. she said, later, that i hummed in my sleep when she did that.

the next morning i woke up, alone, with ten painted fingernails.

on my thumb on my right hand she had painted a smiling face. when i rolled over i smelled her deep within the linens, on the pillow.

i wish, now, that that had been the last time she laid in my bed. but it wasnt. and i guess i cant even say it was the last good time we shared in my bed, because it wasnt.

yet, after that night, everything changed. maybe it was because she left. maybe it was because i fell asleep. maybe i got nervous about needing that smell when i awoke.

thats the last night together i choose to remember.

im laying in a different bed, now. im around different people, now, smelling different smells, feeling different fingernails.

but hers are the ones that my nerves still recall, hers are the ones that i want hunting the itches on my back, hers are the ones that i kissed.

i go to bed now.