Thursday, November 6, 2008
The bitter almond fetor of thanatophobia no longer
intubates my sinus, blackens my lungs, stains my teeth,
gags my throat, stings my eyes, fogs my brain.
In lieu, the fragrant and efflorescent cologne of gladiolas,
an olfactory deja vu of my consanguinity spiriting Elysian Fields,
lustrates this mind, body and soul for the verity of death.