Scented Ink

…

I write in rain and coffee
stained half-moon paper smiles.
The cloy and cling of past
-life sting smoke. The perfumed
poke of pine. The desert after
a storm. The smell of snow
and silence. Indigo flow
and old bookstore breeze. The
wheeze of old pages, leaves
of history hope. I etch in
stretched out canvas sky
and poster paint stars, crayon
and chalk, the soft-talk way
graphite crumbles. The mum
-bled aromatic song of jasmine
and the earthy thrill of soil.
I till the page with quill, and
breathe in feathered phrase.

..
Prompted by Poetic Asides, day 28. 

 

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