Poetry, Really?

Okay, so I'm pretty confident the style of writing I work best in is the personal narrative - but since I'm trying to add writing as a routine habit in my life, I'll take it as it comes. So just drafting here!!

I'm planning to make a pit stop in Florence, SC over the weekend; been there just a couple of times in the last decade...prompted me to work on this a little bit...

Don't worry... I'm sure some smartass facebook fodder will soon follow...

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I place the blame on you
that Autumn smells
like heartbreak.

How the stench of swamp I loathed for years
became sweet like puppy breath,
your musty taste.

I remember cradling the phone,
you said “it’s not about love,
it's just he’s here, and you’re not.”

A three hour drive later I was there,
bawling in your apartment- the bed stained,
still warm with the tang of him.

I’d never seen his face,
but could sniff him out like a hunter.
I think you must drink sperm to live.

You drag men to bed cock first,
in hopes they'll never leave,
as if retelling the plot creates meaning.

Carolina fog takes me back
to that morning I walked away,
the sun not risen, unable to imagine myself whole.