Your smell is
Sage
True
Syrup
Remaining in my own clothes
Warm like a house where I'm needed
Surpassing all and every just to fill up my nose
Choked-up wild chamomile, just for my wrists to be perfumed,
The healthiest anointing oil to find myself drenched with
Wheezing laughter
Stuck in between my ribs and my throat garden, where the heart is
Saying the L word too often and not performing it might dull its sharpness
Your gentleness
A hug where two arms make like cedars and
Root me in you
A mantel with a fire consuming itself
Fresh pine, blooming anew for no one but you
Syrup over biscuits
Buoying in my own nose
Always beginning and ending to begin again
Now hold me in this new grace
The comfort zones are no more
And your smell is all I feel.
YOU ARE READING
PERCHED PARCHED BUTTERFLY
PoetryYour voice is the paint I take to the sky, splattering it all over, so they can all know you're nigh.
