|
IT
SMELLS OF MORTALITY
Not
civet’s ooze nor Magie by Lancôme
hangs
particles of much-desired scent
in
my olfactory entrances.
Should
they invade, my nostrils’ flair rebel!
Snort
them away, usher them out, them all:
the
farding stills of Grasse may tickle some
but leave me cold as stone.
...
(For full text see
the Kindle ebook The
Nature of Things (Collected Poems) by Alan Marshfield)
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