315/365

it’s understood
that memory is
tethered to olfaction.

seems straightforward-
you smell something
you remember.  

didn’t realise
it works the other way too.

standing at the white board
out of nowhere
conjure up a whiff of green soap:
back in the chair
punctured skin
droplets of blood
loud music
hum of the gun
pulsating needles
down to the bone
smear of ink
tender flesh
skin come to life
permanently inked.

how bare one must feel
to wear naked skin.
hear the murmuring
beneath my rind.
feel the soft soothing song
of green soap easing the pain,
for a few short seconds
before the next onslaught
of welcomed aching.