Charred

The smell of cigarette smoke has become cologne -
Perfume for a withered soul.
There are no button ups,
No plaid, striped, tie up suitdowns.
There are no polished kicks,
No leather-bound, laced-tight boots.
Overwashed cotton shirts,
Plain, banal to the eye -
Grey, blue, (rarely) white.
Each piece/fibre/thread,
Infused with smoke, caked
In nicotine dust.
I wonder how you smell better than everyone else.
I wonder how you taste,
Broken, burnt.