Axe Oil. by Jennifer Anne Champion

She might have kept it there. Not that I checked.
Not that she definitely put it there.
But in retrospect, I must have learnt from somewhere
how a proper woman keeps bottle close to heart.
Neckline and neuralgia would compound by noon.
The swoon of eucalyptus oil applied to temple,
circular motions fingers, and the quiet lingering slap
of sound on skin, defying mis-understanding.
You cannot un-understand that here you are
with your mute mouth as your body turns into:

I wanted to be blunt.
But she taught my tongue pinprick silence.