Secondhand Scent

I press your palm,

inhale a brand new head note.

Dry-down does not alter its mellow ego. 

It smokes grassy through skin,

overrides all previous compounds:  memories,

migraines, cheekbones, jawbones.

Bouquet lingers like the last days of summer.

I hone it, catch it in a Mason jar,

screw the lid on tight; save it for when

I need odorous bliss, an oracle

that calms all sorts of butterflies,
claustrophobia, and scars. 

tk/January 2015

Lovely evocative read by R.A.D. ...

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Channeling Julie No. 2

I'm channeling my inner Julie this week with another one of my random favorite things.  I like to keep my teabags (PG Tips) in a vintage Mason jar.  Every morning, when I make my tea, I enjoy the simple ritual of unscrewing the lid, removing a bag, and inhaling deeply, before replacing it.  The sweet, heady scent of the tea is so therapeutic, and I love the way the sunlight plays through the blue bubbled glass. It's just one of those little things that makes me happy, like raindrops on roses, and whiskers on kittens.

I adore simple pleasures. 

They are the last refuge of the complex.

― Oscar Wilde