Why do books smell so good?
I know, I know the chemical truth
But ever wonder if its because the planet approves?
what if mother earth agrees with the use
cut my child down but write wonderful prose
dream a million things and use the pages to be verbose
explain something carefully, like mother nature would
if she could speak, and now she does, through books

the scents of god l
smell and will follow them all
to my mind center

Staring at gravestones
Wondering what it is to
Exist, no longer.
Smell of sulfur,
Feel of bone;
Still as water.

After a few years,

his love is dull, his smell not --


pleasant anymore.

She doesn't want to smell

like she does smell now, unwashed --


It's turning men on.

open wide
as filth falls with slugged flow
putrid lies fog our eyes
the stench clinging to nostrils
infiltrating minds
altering our reality

Heart is craving for your love,
Your smell is one of a kind,
Around my head tightened rope,
Silhouette of you brightens the night.

Steer the ship through the storm,
Let your heart into a free dive,
My summer breeze, keep me warm,
İnstead of living a soulless life.

The last thing I think of at night,
Embraced together facing sunrise,
Inside me an instant fight,
Your smile hide those teary eyes.  

You are my sunshine, you are my spring,
The storm is over, the day is bright,
We have a lot more to bring,
The horizon is either black or white.

She stands in the distance,
The smell of a memory on her hands
Old blankets and old incense,
Old meals and tangerine melancholy and wick-fire soot,
The smell of sharp turpentine and paint
Reaching for me, like tentacles floating in the air.

She stands in the distance,
Sunbeams dripping from her fingers
She stands, with a question on her face
And I watch her, and I can only imagine
Time standing still, frozen; my soul immortalized in a single stroke of tantalizing yellow
I am made of paint and light.

i don't have to be
perfect i smell am ugly
she's waiting for me