Echoes of Scents

Echoes of scents linger,
the Patchouli-sickened gaze
back into my memory tomb
is a vertical slit upwards,
blood that pours evenly,
stains in patches,
grips fabric in concentric circles:
Venn diagrams
of all the reasons I left.

I’ve decompressed from you.
Gone to the desert and back,
gulped men and women like fire.
My inked flesh scarred over,
leashes unbuckled with teeth,
chains undone with feet,
I had bare skin illuminate
like moon veil and sheen,
and all wind-chapped regrets
leaked into the Earth
like whiskey spit.

And then things were lit
with matches:
a photo,
every haunting crescendo
whining from speakers,
and that downright
terrifying smell,
where I shelved you
and let you collect dust,
where water drips crisp
each page,
enveloped between layers
of black romances.

And there you ghost my evenings,
light the river of oil,
until I am an ocean of burning.

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