smells so sweet

I can't stand the smell

that unveils itself

quite randomly. early in the morning. middle of the day.

my nose knows no difference.

That smell of passion; of bare breasts and perfumed necks; candied lips; the fifteen minutes before leaving;

the smell of coming home

– you were perfect that day you were perfect that day –

but what really gets me

is that now it's gone, again.

I just can't smell anything,

except for the stench of sweating dancers, moist armpits, the effects of a viciously dull stomachache, and unwashed hair.

A faint smell of ravioli, which might be my feet.

But, ah, how I can breathe again.