Making Sense of Her Scent
We had a writer’s conversation about ideas that spark imagination. We shared back and forth a few thoughts until something on her list moved me. I must admit, I am a hard sell at times and it takes some really abstract intelligence to jar me from my seat. On her list was a title which involved two words, scent and woman. Just so you know, the ink of a writer flows so much easier concerning affairs that are deemed passionate. This one is packed with passion for me. Scents in general do something to me. In the home, rather it be good food cooking, a clean house or perfectly positioned air fresheners, candles, or oils, I’m all in. If we can get an all inclusive set up of the above mentioned, we are calling it Second Heaven. What will heaven smell like? I got ideas.
Car smells? I love the way it hits you when you open the door or get in!!! It speaks!!! You can be driving a trash heap, but if you have the right smells in it, it transforms into something more. It speaks of care and attention given.
Ok, so that’s house and car. The bookstore? Oh boy!! Skye and I do the same thing every time. We stop right at the entrance and inhale the amazing smell of books and coffee!! Who knew learning could smell so good?
The old school basement? The single girl’s first studio apartment? Long stick incenses, cones, Indian spray, some black light posters, a light with the dimmer switch, and slow jams? I’m sorry I’ve veered off course!! See, that’s what smells do to you.
Christmas? Let’s not do this.
The real one is the smell of SHE!! OMG!!
In contrast and a good way to Segway into my real passion, would be to say, “All scents are not created equal!!” I know it’s obvious but it must be said. If you want to kill a visit, a ride in your car, your studio, your basement, or your Thanksgiving, just get the scent wrong. That’s all I’m going to say about that. I really want to talk about the Scent of She.
Who in God’s name blended that concoction of addiction? I don’t know if your scent forced me to give you a pass or not? I know I was hypnotized because my vision, my thinking, an my words have all been impaired by inhaling you. An “involuntary shotgun” seems to be an easy way to explain what you’ve done. If I knew what I know now, prior to our passing, I would have attempted to hold my breath. Oh well too late!! You sapped my soul and awakened my what the hell!!
Before I knew it, I hit your scent bong and now I’m higher than a trip to Snoops!!
Who put that in a bottle? Is there a warning label on the outside? Of course it’s potency lies not just in the contents but in the mixture of your body chemistry as well. What on earth? What frustrates me is my inability to control my words and actions. I gotta stop dead in my tracks. Momma taught us not to talk to strangers but she ain’t got a whiff of this. I had to turn back and say something.
I don’t really know if any scent more addicting that a perfectly applied scent in the right area. On clothes is general but in the deep, hot, intimate curve of the collarbone, wrist, and neck is wicked, sinful, and should be a class C felony in most states.
Why so harsh of a sentence? It’s premeditated. You knew what you were doing. Don’t give me that, I just grabbed a bottle and sprayed. In reality, you strategically and purposely blasted a mist or two of “Where is your wallet mister?”right in my face. They talk about snake venom is deadly!! I’m speaking French without the privilege of classes.
What frustrates me is I’m out of control and the fact that you didn’t even consider innocent bystanders. I’m sure you didn’t spray specifically with me in mind. I was minding my business on my way to where? I don’t even remember. I just know it didn’t involve where I am and what I’m feeling right now. Have you no compassion?
As I seek to make sense of the scent, I say to myself, it speaks without her speaking. It talks even before she does. It sets a tone, a place, a flow and ebb. It starts the conversation internally even prior to a word being spoken. Classy, All Woman, Goddess, romantic, sexy, lovable, fun, are all in the scent. I would have faked a puff puff pass, if I knew what I was getting myself into.
Here’s where you get totally lost in the matrix. Like the crackhead, you ask for a second whiff. Too bad, too sad. You’ve been hit by Micheal Jackson’s Smooth Criminal. Now look at you? You at home smelling your own clothes to see if the scent is still on your clothes. She’s my Pusher Girl!!! I must admit, all addicts ain’t unhappy!!
I am just trying to make some sense of the scent!! I do apologize, there is no rehab for scents. Keep your N-95 on and hold your breath when Miss Finey walks by. You can try smelling a few stinky girls overusing some of that other stuff that smells like mosquito repellent. Now that’s the worse.
My name is Richard and I am addicted to her scent and smell!! THE SCENT OF SHE!!
Very nice my friend, very nice! Scents will forever be my favorite form of silent expression. Bravo
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