time perfume

my hands are pungent

cupping my face

I inhale

golden ochre fills me

my heart

a newly forming bowl on the wheel

moistened now by the rich echo of a smell I can taste

forming still…

I lick my hand and drive my time machine

back to 1978

a hot summer with brittle trees against a friendly blue sky

a far lighter blue than that of the bike I couldn’t ride

the water is almost gone and toads langor there

toxic and lumpy and lazy with peace

but OH they make us squeal

why do my hands feed to me that day now?

all clean and grown

I do langor like a toad though

breathing through nostrils that flare over thick lips of clay

memories move under my nails

like watercolour

reminding me of my birthday watch


and the way Harriet snapped at the black mongrel

who DARED poke his nose beneath her tail….

maybe that’s when I dropped my watch

in the mud

by the dam

under grass

taller than me

Published by The Silver Poet

I AM a little spark in the sea of conscious awareness. I am passionate about bringing the concept of freedom of expression into the forefront of our one mind and a keen awareness of personal power to the hearts of little children everywhere. I exist to express!

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