It is a certain sadness,
an empty sorrow
for something I never had
but still miss.
I ache for any scent,
for any nasal experience
cause I have never known
the sweet smell of anything,
but if I consider it a blessing
I have never known the stench.
of anything.

I've witnessed a beauty
I can't describe
That speaks to my soul
As it swims through my eyes
The silent sounds
Sneak into my mind
The taste lingers on
Leaving sweetness behind
The scent creeps up
To slowly remind
Of the touch that once felt
Makes all else fade
Til only your beauty
Pure beauty remains

There's nothing else
Your beauty remains

You have the smell of feeling something,
but the touch of regret.

Warm hands,
but a cold heart

You're like yellow,
a representation of happiness and sickness.

A flash of unripe banana green hair,
And the solemn padding of thumbs hitting a screen,
The wisp’s of dying flame,
A worn sticker on a pure evening blue water bottle,
The tight warm grip,
Of a beanie on my head,
The soft wind that air vents disperse,
The crisp smell of a sparse winter’s day,
Like wasabi, but clogging my nose instead of cleaning it,
The din of speaking and eating in a popular coffee shop,
And I’m just on my way to class

Most days,
I smell like cherry blossoms,
Rain,
And underlying sage.
In the summer,  
My usual perfume
Is masked by aloe,
Chlorine,
And sunscreen.
But you never change,
For you,
You always smell like home.

A place where the earth is still...
Where the sin shines and the moon glistens
Where the tides wave and the wind takes flight
I want to see the animals relaxing by the stream
I want to hear the rain drops
I want to get away....

There's only so much smell left in your powder box
I can tell.  I
only open it every once in a while,
to feel like a child
and hear your chuckle and smell
how
glamorous
you were.

I didn't weep at your slipping away.
I could see your pain
I could hear it screaming under
your skin, your pride burning
your age raging inside you, I
watched you crumble and I blinked, I
looked away.
I didn't want you to have to feel your pain.

But you live with me here.
In an old box you don't remember that I have,
out of all the countless
sparkly
spangly
shiny things you gave to me, this is the thing
I keep with me.

Your trash.
Your old powder box.

I open it from time to time and I smell you and I hear you rumble
and I see you
lipstick and hair and bright poofy hairbands.

Every time I open up your box it smells a little less like you.

I didn't fear your going because I knew that it was time
but I rue already the day when I might think on you
and not be able to find you.

When your powder box will just be a box.
Instead of the place I keep you inside.