The smell of a sweet wild rose and I can

trace through the crowd into you

your dead-body-been-soaked-in-salty-water-for-ten-years kind of

 white, moist, preserved.

youth, freckles, veins.

Fresh! The late-adolescent freshness.

Couldn’t you have smelled me? I was sniffing up and down your neck and spine like an overheated hog.

Couldn’t you have felt me, not even my breath? The tip of my nose a hair away from touching the fuzz on your skin.

You! You little devil!

You! And your mermaid red curly hair!

you sweeter than a sweet wild rose

sweeter than its nectarean sweat

how can I preserve you so you stay how you are?

not a second younger, not a second older.

not even performing one more breath.

But do breathe, my dear,

and do smell the smell of yourself!

blossoming like a, embracing the whole world like a!