"unscented" poems
the Cambridge ladies who live in furnished souls
are unbeautiful and have comfortable minds
(also,with the church’s protestant blessings
daughters,unscented shapeless spirited)
they believe in Christ and Longfellow,both dead,
are invariably interested in so many things—
at the present writing one still finds
delighted fingers knitting for the is it Poles?
perhaps. While permanent faces coyly bandy
scandal of Mrs. N and Professor D
….the Cambridge ladies do not care, above
Cambridge if sometimes in its box of
sky lavender and cornerless,the
moon rattles like a fragment of angry candy
7.8k
Keep it close, do not disclose,
That thought you had, don't let it be told.
Spiralling downwards, gaining momentum,
Familiar now, fermenting the unscented.
Just one step towards the darkest past,
Listen to what you once were told,
"Take two steps forward, one step back".
Letting fears unwind, twisting the truth,
A blanket of confidence unveiled,
Now that your no longer you.
Dec 10, 2014
Dec 10, 2014 at 1:23 PM UTC
Keeping your hands in your pockets won't keep you warm
in the cold air of a winter night
raging against the warmth of a fire and a place to rest your head
acceptance and satisfaction cracking your lips
The key in a puddle carved like a knife
shattering the icy calm of the little pool
reflecting the thunder clouds above your head
looming like scissors over a barely blooming rosebud
Calamity and discord seems to be your comfort
or are those lies I see glaring in your obtrusive eyes
silence is the last thing you could ever hear
unless it's the cries of a helpless child sighing into the night
Hope never abandoned you
I watched as you burned the unscented candles
the wax waning and the smoke dissapating in contempt
your fingers dancing in the last dip of flame
I watched you disappear into the coming season
observing the ground as you tread
leaving a dull key in that evaporated puddle
the wax molded to your hand and a burn on your palm
Feb 20, 2011
Feb 20, 2011 at 11:50 AM UTC
A daily dose of pleasure
Simple but treasured
Bottled and boxed
Scent or unscented
Refreshing in confidence
Flavors of the rainbow
Right blend to satisfy
Commercially seductive
Nov 12, 2009
Nov 12, 2009 at 2:49 PM UTC
The parts I love about you are the ones I have invented
like when you kissed my floor and left unscented
Oct 22, 2015
Oct 22, 2015 at 2:04 AM UTC
A fainting pink, the color I have to resist
To stare at as we pass by the textured walls of our hallways
There isn't much he knows about her,
Except for the bottles of strawberry flavored wax
She takes and uses up within months
I dream of what it tastes like.
Not the strawberry scent she lingers on every one of his clothes
But the lips she has to polish every single hour,
Applying and reapplying
Again and again
On my bed, I hold that scent close,
That stain of wax that missed her skin,
Landing mistakenly on my shirt
If I rub it off on my cheek,
My neck,
My lips
Would it be the same?
The same type of love she gives to him,
On 𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒃𝒆𝒅,
To 𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒄𝒍𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒔,
In 𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒓𝒐𝒐𝒎...
The room that stands next to mine.
I cant help myself.
That artificial sweetness on her skin teases the strings I spun just for her in my heart
When I weave my way to her through the harsh rivers of doubt to get a whiff of what could've been
A future without scented walls to separate us
But hearing her through those thin plaster barricades,
My waxy layers melt off,
As the canister holding my strawberry sacrifice calls from the basin
Of discarded chapsticks that once gave her so much joy
Give me the satisfaction
Of knowing that you're recycling this affection
For what?!
Why don't you enlighten me with capped closure
Instead of covering up essential oils with his favorite perfume
Because even when you force yourself to pucker up into unscented soberness,
You know you can't stand the blank space
Between this balm and your lips
So I'll ask of you tonight, my one and only, to please
Hold me tight,
Lead me on,
And promise to love 𝒎𝒆...
Through your chapstick kisses to him.
Sep 3, 2024
Sep 3, 2024 at 6:58 PM UTC
purple arms still roaming
the cracking streets
unscented
vomiting
the next heartbreak
into your porcelain sink
rinsing the probability
of understanding humanity
down the sewage system
filtering
commercialized affection
Jan 19, 2015
Jan 19, 2015 at 8:50 PM UTC
The crisp air engulfs my lung,
As I begin my downward run.
Trees whip by in an endless haze,
As I zip through their leafy maze.
Downwards I go, but to where?
Only to the depths of my own despair.
Fear scours from the brain.
Loss of sense drives me insane.
My body rushes to the end.
To an outcome no medicine can mend.
I hear the wind’s furious roar.
So loud, that I cannot ignore.
Like an eagle’s screech it sinks in.
Leaving me desolate within.
Slowly pain creeps into my ear,
Until even the raucous wind I cannot hear.
The wind is no longer heard,
Yet the scent of pine is still observed.
Natural incense accosts my nose,
In unending scented tidal flows.
As I ascend, their sweet fragrance drifts away,
Until the nose, too, loses its way.
Fear scours from the brain.
Loss of sense drives me insane.
My body rushes to the end.
To an outcome no medicine can mend.
The mute unscented wind enters my throat,
As I scream, its icy tendrils freeze within my moat.
The tongue becomes non-dependent,
As taste buds become less apparent.
Instead of the crispy icy-taste,
The wind-ridden flakes become a senseless waste.
As I plummet coldness baths the skin,
Damp snow covers me from head to shin.
The frigid warmth of its crisp flakes,
Causes my skin to numb as it chillingly bakes.
A tingling sensation flares through me,
Luring me to numbing amnesty.
Fear scours from the brain.
Loss of sense drives me insane.
My body rushes to the end.
To an outcome no medicine can mend.
All that is left is the sight of the trees flying by.
My vision blurs despite what ever I try.
Daggers of frost singe my eyeballs,
Crusting my vision of nature’s wondrous halls.
All that I see becomes opaque,
Leaving me in a deep black wake.
Here I am approaching the end,
While dreading the life I tried to mend.
I feel my ascent coming to a crashing stop,
As life ebbs from my body’s quivering top.
At last!! Relief from the pangs of life!
At last!! Relief from life’s endless strife!
Jun 12, 2012
Jun 12, 2012 at 10:06 PM UTC
tell me how I owe me more black butterflies
then the prettiest forests on islands where only vermin creep
to low inches lower then the lowest feet
grounded by my own productivity
It makes me smile to know that I have shed you
that I have left you in those footprints I left on the beach
when I went walking by myself a week ago in the black water
the hours merk down like red candle wax
unscented in the middle of a wooden cabin
somewhere deep in my empty objects
emptied out by everyday little tiny life
oh life
your reluctant love was like a painting
I could never finish, so I abandoned it
the grays never mixed right
and my arms didnt intertwine with your spine correctly
should I slit the sides of my neck
would it have been the end of me
I thought departure was more capable of death
then open wounds on cold flesh
and in those two minute love meetings where I
would inhale every bit of your breath
into my chest,
I felt it gaping into something
deeper than your darkest cave
light light, he said
light light ,I said
hidden somewhere in between your pupils and utopia
half folded lips in my palms
greetings sweeter than peaches
greetings that lasted too long
I reached for you like a starving child
I sought you out like a bird seeking shelter
and there I was in the corner
paint peeling off the walls into different strands of my hair
you sat next to me
you kept me company
but mentioned
leaving
so I accepted your hesitant departure and I demanded you to leave.
Oh how many black butterflies I owe me.
Dec 5, 2010
Dec 5, 2010 at 2:41 PM UTC
Fertile precincts of toxic air, colourless
And unstable create, inexistent boundaries
Of oxygen ***** by electrical discharges
Ultraviolet caress. An atom more turns
The unscented scent into a pungent odour,
Pale blue molecules high temperatures detonate
While low ones, solidify in violet black coagula,
Generous enough to retain, for humanity
And wildlife and all beneath, a gaseous form
Up high to shield, the delicate planet hosting
Sparkles of consciousness from its star’s deadly
Compromising radiations, absorbing them to grant
A frail, balance through its presence in stratosphere
We know, as our fragile sheltering ozone layer,
Descending just a little lower to become once more,
Breathable life bearing oxygen penetrating
Our lungs inundating a system, flowing through
Veins where the pale blue molecules spring only,
Every now and then in white blood cells, fighting
Illful intruders ensuring, survival of amazing wonders.
Oct 25, 2017
Oct 25, 2017 at 1:59 AM UTC
Unscented flower
Things went south
As you utter pleasantry
That comes with titter
I stayed disheartened
In-between forced laugh;
Caused by ancient occasion
Waiting with bated breath for fortuity to cut-off the lines
I thought, I have never been
Impatient to arrive at the period while writing a sentence
Predicament has once again occurred ;
Scratching off thorns on my flower scene played in my head
En voyage to holocaust
A sigh whether of relief or misery have escaped between my lips
Deep breath I took
In dread that you would
Take away the scent from my flower once you depart
May 18, 2021
May 18, 2021 at 10:59 PM UTC
I woke up to find myself wearing the cloak of unscented flowers
I take it off and the cloak disappears
closed eyes wishing for more of you
I open my eyes to find you wearing the cloak
I walk into your room and smell that place they call home
I walk out, and try to walk in again but the door is closed
No confusion yet
as your hands share their talks with mine
as your eyes share your thoughts with mine
I whisper, smiling: The room is on fire
and you wear your cloak, and walk out.
everything disappears
Jan 15, 2015
Jan 15, 2015 at 5:54 AM UTC
One day when the morning comes
It won’t just be unscented romance and wrinkled sheets
It will be feather touches and comforter conversations
As fingers wrap around wild curls and morning embodies
And cold floor boards are the raging fire that keeps us here
Instead of an uncontrollable avoidance of last night’s events
Oct 29, 2018
Oct 29, 2018 at 1:02 AM UTC
It is 11:30 at night, and I wreak of essential oils
I believe I must be some sort of ethereal goddess to smell so good
I am ******
But I massage my body from top to bottom in unscented lotion and gently cover each body part in warn socks, sweater, sweat pants because
I am ******
I paint my nails and heat up a rice bag for my neck
I stretch out my muscles
I am happy with myself
I wonder why I am only happy with myself when I am ******
Feb 18, 2019
Feb 18, 2019 at 1:31 AM UTC