a familiar spicy aroma
drifts, envelops, settles
and nests quietly along the cranny of each nostril
this is not home.
it begins to seep further, deeper - beyond cognitive control
until it reaches the file in my brain labeled  

you

this does not thwart the happenings of my day
i do not long for your touch
your hands on my waist
your fingers through my hair
i only long for a sensorial mass
a reminiscence -
of ginger tea