Scentiments

Unexpectedly
everything smells
delicious. I steer the
crowded streets
nameless
breathing in
the thoughts of pedestrians -
their soundless musings
fragrant
like the wafting foam
of hot cappuccinos
on damp afternoons.
I navigate busy concrete
wet with the soft shimmer of sundown,
the loam underneath
dreaming of potpourri
and freshly-cut grass.
Counting every measured step
this is where I remember you
and my spirit climbs the ladders
of unseen joy—every dull thud
of my feet
melts slowly
like scented weekends
reeking of sun and salt.

Or something
equally comforting,
for instance,
the rinsed whiff of dusk
rising from the pavements
after the rain.

[this is NOT a poem]
- for T
30.10.2008

[btw, thanks to Q for making this messy drivel make sense]