By Holly Reid
Breathing in the scent of his skin
is like inhaling cinnamon.
You love the smell but it hurts like hell.
Each particle burns your nose
still you crave the familiar scent.
Like how a paper heart
drawn to a flame
is just waiting to get burned.
Your fingers find his thick brown hair
as it's kissed by the October sun.
You inhale him again and think,
what the fuck
cinnamon isn't even sweet.
Holly Reid is an occupational therapist and PhD student at the University of British Columbia. They are grounded in their relationship with their family and spending time on the lands on which they are an uninvited guest (currently living on W̱SÁNEĆ territory). Holly's Métis family members migrated to the West coast of BC from the Red River homelands, while their father's side immigrated from Scotland in the 1960's. Through their relationship with nature and exploration of identity, Holly blends art and science into their academic endeavors and daily life.
Outside of work you can find Holly hiking, riding their bike, chasing sunsets, and reflecting. This is Holly's first poetry publication, and you can follow them on twitter at @curious_OT