can’t put my nose on the smell
like a finger down a philtrum, to and fro on cupid’s bow…
an indent so deep, to prove where you’re silenced by a Mal’akh, angelus
and just like those scriptures you’re all but forgotten
as deep as that pathway I’m silenced
stopped long short of saying how beautiful you are
or, what a waste of a brain in a mind self-disdainful
or my touch on a soul I can’t fathom
or rest, when it ‘sides in a kind so unsettled
wunderkind, one that’s settled so often for less.
less I step on the mark, I let hands do the talking
working fingers, unstopping a philtrum and flow
down my throat, sweet elixir, submission
and let the staunch fragrance combine with the smoke.