Monday, June 05, 2017

Petrichor

She smells of the sun
and sounds like summer sun
showers smashing into dry, dusty asphalt.

She bursts into rooms like fizzes of
aromatic aerosols, telling me, asking me,
showing me; creating memories she can draw from
when reading a beach novel, warm sand
heating her towel and she can't quite put her finger
on it: palpabilis.
Or when she touches an unknown word.

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