sacred

It was a gorgeous aged smell, like air

from another time that had been trapped for decades, for so long it had

begun to breathe and refresh itself differently than the other air elsewhere,

it stayed calm while a billion cars and Sr. Wardens blurred by.

It was dark, speckled-special

red like the dusty faded vermillion carpet that drew lines

up to the altar and back to the doors and split

us down the middle, even before the year we split

I’ve written many a time of this same smell. I never once

thought someday I might just have these striped, dry-faced pages off of which to inhale it

or that I’d ever be away long enough to forget just how it smells.

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