Going Home by Igor Zenin
If I were you I'd
remember this day and
the way your dad's tobacco
mingles with the smell
of the horse, and with the
seductive fullness of the air
at gloaming, in a blend
of musky smoke, sweet
grass, and magic
so familiar
there is color-character-form
to the concoction and you
might create it again
someday for Guerlain and
name the fragrance trust.
Your hair will have been
cut years before your
career begins. Still, if
I were you, I would
remember the taste of the
tips of those braids
when you sucked them
and the strange sensuality
in that act,
and the soft sentimentality
you will feel when pressing
those bright leaves
in between the covers
of twilight.
Written for Open Link Night at dVerse Poets hosted this week by Joe Hesch.
(Am linking in spite of being too late to actually sign in.)
.
.
.
