scented

since it sent
a scent of sense
in sensibility
a reality
in bits
of her in.sane IT

"... he IS comin' ..."
oh shit!

it seemed
a matter of time
before a door
would become
a rhyme

"... who's bread...?"

she's not really dead
but a bit red
in her reason
seasons green

"... so he left his things ..."

clubs a bit boring
without an outpouring
don't you think?

smoke in rafters
laughters chore
extra on the pickles
"... and tomatoes?..."
no more

was a primer
of a mental
reminder

"... I'll come find her ..."
remembered he said
so....