Too much of one thing

I've touched many hands,

seen many faces,

smelled
 many scents.

But the only one I remember best,

is the hands that we held,

just me and you.
The two imperfect hands from scratch,
to one perfect hand by passion.

Those faces I saw,

those faces I touched.

The only face that scares me to sleep,

is the little face you pull towards me

in the most devilish ways.

A lot of scents,

I cannot distinguish.

Not even your scent enters the blood flow of the hearing.

Those scents you put on,

the scents you provoke with,

I cannot distinguish 

that one scent that brings me
to where you are.