his stupid fucking cap

You met as friends and ended up on a leather couch, the quiet chatter around you as you kept catching his eye, the grey jeans, the tattoos, that ginger look, and texting across the table like a private line only you two shared. After dropping the others off, alone in his car, a cigarette flicked out the window, then his cap sent after it; he went back for it, pulled you out, and kissed you against the passenger side, holding you tight. It lives now as vanilla, sandalwood, rose and soft musk.