Sunday, April 15, 2012



My cologne

smells of

dried gum

automobile exhaust

and wet asphalt

clipped grass

jasmine and rosemary


pigeon feathers

and cigarettes.

Inhale the city's


and I'm there

Even though you

launder that shirt

you lent me

even though you

scrub your sheets

burn cleansing sage

in your room

and sprinkle vinegar

on the cooled tiles,

Our linkup can't be broken

not by soap

or prayers, not by rituals

not even by death

Not even by exploding suns.

Suspended in the air

my cologne will linger

recalling you

to the streets

and you will find yourself

staring out of your window

trying to pick me out

of the indifferent crowd.

My cologne,

swirling pungent and sweet

will hold my place;

it will follow into your dreams

you will reach for my hand

in your sleep

I know you will.

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