Oxygen Tents

Purity encased in chastity’s chamber,
stale and devoid of scents,
nostrils sterilized in the bleached bliss,
old factory virginity
strings its pearls of presumption,
dwelling in aromatic ignorance,
existence without incense,
fragmented fixations floundering for fragrance.

One whiff of the world
rupturing the gossamer tube
and suddenly reality
finds a heart beat
among the brisk bite to clarity
of roses and decay,
pain opening the nasal passage
to the blast in blends of aromas,
discovering sweet and sour
entwining in life’s daily array
death and birth’s air fresheners
sprayed upon the world.

Sinuses no longer clogged
over reality’s bouquets,
the sting of newness
arousing an appreciation
for what was never smelled before,
but now is an addiction.