The apocalypse,
I think, will smell
like peppermint
essential oils,

a lover’s
deodorant,
and organic
lemon soap.

It will smell fearful,
a bluff for
gentle, winding fingers
in a flurry of youth.

It will smell strong,
a stench that you
breathed in slowly when
your neck was buried in it.

It will smell filthy,
accompanied with the
crunch of insect shells
that sends the others running.

The apocalypse,
I think, will smell
fresh and clean and
as if it’s only yours.