through the mist guiding the passions, fading and breathed in, staining the walls with the smell, the dank fragrance, memories sticking like fly paper, album covers and ways of speaking, scents can be everything, wafting in and chugging towards the center of something, the attention, the roominess, the raunchy, the rancid, or the romantic, only a very fine line between masculine and rustic, and their hybrid sensuates at the touch and is sensitive, a necklace worn all night is left at the bedside for a poor desperate lover, who does nothing but cling to it in the midst of his studies

onward onward, old smells and new ones, sometimes devoid of it, expressionless scents, who have high ceilings, their masks, masks meant for emotional recurrence, masks made for actors moving through space, neutrality has its own unique sensitivity, diluted in sink water, minerals that we don't know of, the actors

onward onward, potent as green dank in parks, distinguish between cow dung and the potent plant can sometimes be difficult, dare to know strands, dare to be a master of wine, on the other hand, dabbling in notes that are sung with different feasts, wine, and bread, and grass

taste, driving onward, taste in fragrance, relativity, yet grounded in set and nurturing baby powder, cool and refreshing, but driven to the ends of the earth with distinction, with fine lines, onward onward I stake to make my way but consistently do not understand it, scent