Ariel Dolores Akizuki Buckles

You smell like a wet towel
fragrant and swell
like a potato mashed into the tiles
like the sound of a steady drum
like a wind that spits indefinately, like a little song
sung by the stones, like a sudden love,
a warmth condensing
a sugar cube melting
a piglet squeaking in delight.
Like a dizzy giraffe on its back,
like a gift from another dimension,
like a great fat hole in the ground,
a pickle, a tiny shell,
with a boulder floating in the sky,
like the bubbles rising from the sea,
like Aunty’s scones and cream,
like a mist in the trees,obscuring your vision.
Like laughter erupting, like a purchase
you can never return to the store,

like the uniform we wear to the decadent glow,
and a slippery dream of childish beatings,
the tumbling horns they gave to the natives
forgetting the discourse which led them to fight,
a familiar smell, like somewhere a garden would grow.
Is inside my nose, where I can smell her the most.
like the scent left on my clothes
from a secret baby, full of milk