It Smells Like Tomorrow

Smell is the primordial sense of sex and time

we think we measure both by sight

making up clocks calendars that we hang up on the wall

disguised as Miss July

turning time over to the hands of designer watches

handcuffing wrists with the weight of the infinite

seconds shattered into pieces of time

still it’s the sense of smell that conjures up history’s intimacy

baked bread

her perfume

awaken us to a new sense of mornings and midnights

that can’t be seen with our eyes.

We’ve all lived 2:18 in the afternoon twice a day our entire lives

but have you ever felt 2:18 in the afternoon?

Have you ever once in all the 2:18 in the afternoons felt

‘Yes! This is what a good 2:18 in the afternoon feels like!’

Time has no feeling

it has the subtlest of tastes

some sight

slightly more sound

yet time has an overwhelming smell

defining us by her memories

if we were ever to catch a whiff of her

slinking by.

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