Ash, it's nothing but concrete, ground to micro bits
Solid and useless
No road not a dead end.
It's nothing but ash.
I held him in a dream a few years ago
Arms fitting perfectly around his sweating back.
My nose is married to that scent,
I would know him anywhere,
Given a chance.
I'd like to think he is dead now
Or someone entirely different
Who smells of cologne or perfume or something more artificial
I'd like to imagine him as a robot, alive and dead,
And satisfactory for my script.
He was all ashes in the end,
And my chase was clumsy and unrewarding
Yet my heart
And my nose
Grew.
Tonight the rain falls and some of my hair has silkened into milk
I am alone but wiser.
For a moment I make the mistake of regretting.