I finally felt it: that hint of disgust, not so promising as repulsion following intoxicated one night stands. But all the same, I wanted, just then, to be free, turn my head from unrestrained pheromone, refuse to draw the musk deep within, the former oxygen of my smoke studded atmosphere. Drag a sheet between this leg and that sweat stuck leg, spit that salt off my tongue, brush my teeth, wash those sheets, cook the notorious, delicious foods and roll over. After eight years: an irresolute no thank you.