Rain, my uncle says, smells like ear-wax,
or that just-got-out-of-bed smell that can
never be acquired by one’s own senses.
I knew a girl, years ago, who always
smelled like gasoline. I love that smell.
Her voice reminded me of crystal-clear
winter skies; her eyes, B-Sharps;
her shape, ambient. Scent of LYSOL
in this room. A manufactured glaze
to deceive the rancid scent of cat feces.
The rain pours. The bumble bees
huddle & babble. Perfume-hydronics,
southeast kiss of wind, the trees want
to dive underground, cuddle their roots
like a mother holding her baby
for the first time, eyes glinting like
Come to thee. If I were to smell
what you smell, my nostrils would choke
on one of your Anemoi. If NASA created
a perfume, let us all smell like outer space.