Nostril Reamer
The smell of sage permeates my nostrils,
lounging on my metaphoric bed.
I want to abandon these silly, loving postures
Banter back and forth, using time like wastrels
no matter if it was you or I that led.
The smell of sage colonizes my nostrils.
How often, staring at the surrounding pastures,
I stepped back and never said,
"Let's abandon these silly, loving postures."
Fighting you off, my laughing shrills
out of the space round me, in my head.
The smell of sage invades my nostrils.
The empty space, filled with gestures
on parents' dreams, hopes, fears fed,
trapped by these silly loving postures.
Some inviting, some calm, some hostile,
you understand, however it was said.
The smell of sage pillages my nostrils
Abandoned by those silly, loving postures.
