Like rain on a Tuesday afternoon
Like your neck when I nuzzle it
Like ripe mangoes and sticky fingers in July
Like the fluffy dog fur after a bath.
These smells etched on the back of my memory
Ignite for a millisecond sometimes
Too fast to catch hold of
Too weak to stand attentive
While I trace my fingers on its frail outlines
They don't come easy
They don't come announced
It is a tune that the subconscious dances to
And it plays when you don't listen
A fairydance behind your eyes - bright lights and soft hues.
It is random, it is fleeting
You can smell it in the glance of a beautiful stranger
Or the touch of your old books.
It mingles in your head
And sleeps sound in your heart
And rouses at the flutter of a falling leaf
And sometimes never at all.
