this morning smells a certain way, rancid, sour,
tainted,
it smells like the memory of another sweaty, humid, Miami morning and it makes me shiver.

the world should know that i am the dirty finger-nail trends of my generation,
our generation.
it should fully comprehend our spoiled discontent,
and so deny us this blessing.

the fragrance of the tri-rail, of dirty streets,
of hitchiking in ignorance and the desperation of cardboard signs,
it's linked with the music i'd known and the people I'd kissed,
and the dirty blankets I'd so embodied,
and it stinks.

it reeks.
this stench of floating docks and failed relationships,
it is foul and filthy,
it is the protective malodor that penetrates horrid emotions,
the fumes of lost loves and hatred.

once, you wore the cologne of my ex-lover,
you wore it on your cheeks and your hair,
and it permeated.
I feared your lap and your arms for the briefest moment that you were this being incarnate in scent alone,
for that is this sense's power.

those events, like animals,
lay their smells in the fissured territory of our skulls,
and with fierceness,
eat our lives away.