It is that scent that refuses to go away-
The olfactory signature of your presence.
Of all the senses we had been blessed with,
I am reassured by the sense of smell.
And I am never de-sensitized, never at all.
The sensation gets more intense by passing time.
And it tricks my mind, like MSG, like aspertame,
For in your absence, I still feel you with every inhale.
It feels like streaks of electric blue
And shards of neon pink
And a whole lot of antique wood and stainless steel.
Sometimes it feels like newspaper,
or some brand new notebook and a rustic diary.
On rare instances it feels very organic,
Like some unidentifiable fruit that I seem to know,
and even at times it feels like the scent plastic burning,
Like soil on a rainy day, and even snow.
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