Smell and memory

Scent is a memory and he is chiefest
he and his smile reaching out to me
from thirty years ago in a storm
reclining while I peeled a tangerine
wiping my mouth on his shoulder

The day we met it was roses
beauty and glamour and colors
lavish as any red carpet night
rivaling the blooms on my cheeks
as I type this glossary of daydreams

Red wine is the color of my lover’s eyes
the one that got away, the one
that will never smell this scent or lean in
to know why I buy ninety-nine-cent green beans
but spend eighty bucks on Dolce and Gabbana

This one defining air to leave behind
so that if he makes it, walking
steps behind me, soft shoeing it
he will know that I was there
and will run to catch up

Life, this tangled seaweed on the beach
confusing our senses and good sense
suddenly, upon the scent of him
remembering a day of celebrating
when I was sure that I had just been born

5 thoughts on “Smell and memory

  1. Potent words! Smell and memory go hand in hand. The smell of candles burning always take me back to my grandmother who would light a candle as she prayed. It’s one of the earliest memories I have as a child. I absolutely was enthralled by your last stanzas — sweet confusion.

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