Anima forma corporis

I know as only animals do
the scent of you.
Not the sweet smelling soaps, expensive cologne, nor the freshly laundered clothes—
No, I remember none of those. 
I know only as animals do
the scent of you.
Sour salt of night old 

Bed stale skin, hot and wet

Spiced with laughter
Bright and odiferous as the waning sun 

Through painted linen
Permeating the air

Played into a song 

By the orchestra of my olfactory senses;
Excited by a tune so rare and new 
So acutely did it learn each note;
Each wafting reign of its highs and lows,
To the mid-tones of unfettered trust 
And secrets told through the eyes alone—

I know as only animals do
the scent of you.
But how can it be true,
Separated by miles and years,
I did just now trace it passing through?