Punched and lulled and soft
Swung, fat marcato
Something whispered, stolen
Each voice is a scent
Each color is a word
And the taste of ash permeates each touch

I smooth a hand over the ending
A coating of dust turns my skin gray
Fuzzy and soft, like downy or feathers
Or the soft lighting of a rainy day

I fluctuate, expand, reexamine and redesign
The scent was cold, now hot
And the only thing I remember
Is the orange essence that clung
To your fat, red tie.