I smell the world deeply and with great joy. I climb the hill up the road from my house and look over mountains and valleys in every direction. The air is good.
Pinon pine, sage, the cool wind, clay of the earth after rain. Clean, sweet. Each step I take a new mix of scents. My lover, his hair, the warm smell of his skin, the heat of his touch. I drink him in.
I drink the world in.
Wood smoke, horse dung, creosote.
I can still smell the Lower East Side at 4:30 in the morning. A mixture of possibilities and loneliness, tar and brick, constant clash of humanity and inhumanity, which are actually the same. Silence peace violence tenderness brutality. Sweet kisses on one corner, a split lip on the next. Armpit waft of bars in the early morning air, pavement, and the bloom of morning dew.
Hw do I smell the world? I’m a butterfly finding the perfect flower, tasting tasting tasting. I’ve emerged from a tight cocoon. I can hardly believe I wound myself up! Constricted, almost suffocating. I’ve emerged with wings I will not fold for anyone. That’s the way it has to be; I have to be.
When I brush against you, I leave the powder of my existence n your sleeve, your finger.
© May 10, 2008
2 comments:
The smell writing was awesome. It evoked so many memories and images.
Thanks for your smells. I love your butterfly! Fly! Fly!
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