Every part of you screams what you are

And not only because you smell like smoke she said

With her hands in my work jacket

Like heat and smoke and oil

Leaning in to sniff this heavy cotton

Fire grilled garlic and chicken too

I start to strip down the row of black buttons

No don't

She speaks again

It's good

You, I say

You smell like clove oil and toasted cardamom pods

Salty sweet intoxicating

She takes it as a compliment

Not wanting to hear the rest of my tale

About the bitter, painful aftertaste

Cardamom leaves in my mouth