I was sitting near a window and my hot arm began to smell like you. It's been years since I've thought of you and our summer together or how the back of your neck would get so densely, cocoa dark in the sun. Whenever we would eat or sit outside, I would always make sure your back was to the sun and I wonder if you ever caught on. Although I've never been much of a patchouli fan, somehow it became you and the scent would go right through me and I just wanted it on me. After a night together, I would find myself smelling my skin for traces of you. Anticipation, like gravity, holding me in place, eating slowly to ensure the darkest possible color. Coming home, watching you take of your tshirt, revealing the contrasting hues. You hated having a famers tan, but I loved coming behind you in the bathroom mirror, kissing your warm neck and wrapping my arms around your waist. I would press the side of my face to your neck and could feel the temperature difference between the brown and pale skin and it made me crazy.
(If only tan lines were enough to hold two people together).