Smoke and Lavender
There were men who undressed as if they were doing something forbidden.
The priest always smelled like incense and laundry detergent.
I still remember thinking, as a teenager, that holiness probably smelled exactly like that:
like fabric
that had never really touched a body.
Later, men lay beside me whose T-shirts smelled of smoke, lavender, and night air.
And somehow I felt even more ashamed afterwards.
Some men even apologized while kissing.
At night, so many things suddenly felt more permissible.
Men wrote things
they would have deleted immediately in daylight.
In the dark, they suddenly wanted to be held.
The priest often spoke about temptation
as if it were something
that came from outside of us.
Never like something
breathing beside you at night.
There were men
who touched my body without hesitation
but could not bear my gaze the next morning.
In the morning, the room still smelled of smoke and lavender.
I still remember
how automatically I folded my hands
before falling asleep.
Samu


Really good…..and really, really depressing.
The incense and laundry detergent… I’m mad at how much that smell carries, and then the folded hands before sleep..? Nu-uh…