A delicate nature,
reaches out rising from the freshly churned soil
twisting like late night
drunk-dancers
in their last seconds.  It’s been
missed, this smell
tells me in its swift goodbye,
you drift to thought
to think of now and freshly-always,
known clearly in shaded
night sweats
where the toss and turn
mimics this feebleness felt – remembering
more than me, the footsteps
fingerprints and paintings
shoved through your
mouth and hands
drawn out in forced
creations, though reasoned
slowly, thoroughly
roughly etching my own sentiment into yours to complete themselves
finally,
to become the smell that
pushed me further
finding nothing but yourself in
me as well.

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