The Haptic Smell of Spring

The Haptic Smell of Spring
Originally uploaded by lorenzodom

The Haptic Smell of Spring
(to want to dig)


Seems like
I’ve met somebody new.

Not the kind I’ve known
or grown accustomed to,
feeling as if, “Hmmm,
I’ve known you before.”

Not the kind of information-whore
who drags out the dregs of where
and when and how many times,
and where have you been?
With whom?

No, somebody new.

A new scent
unlike others.

Someone like,
yet unlike—
me.

Someone damp,
gritty,
dirty...

Thoughts of whom
stick to me like glue.

Someone who
last night,
with tidbits and small tales
of making books, wanderlust,
and caverns of cheese,
pleased me enough
to want to pursue—
to continue digging,
to pry open,
and find.

I’m inclined
to a slow discovery—this time;
a kind that patiently trowels the earth,
until the spade punctures and piques,
releasing the redolent aroma of promise,
that rare perfume trifulaos are privy to.

Seems like
I’ve met somebody new.

Albeit, seemingly,
there is no symbiotic growth
between our roots;
there is no hard wood (yet)
that whets and savors;
we share a penchant for the grass
that grows between our toes.

And although,
we have only hunted for a day,
I must say, “Maybe, just maybe…
I’ve met somebody new.”

I’m praying for April showers,
that way she won’t hide,
that way she’ll want to come out and play,
and smell the damp earth with me.

I’m dreaming of tumbling below the oak,
rolling like estrus-soused sows,
plowing eagerly at soil,
searching with exuberant toil—
scraping, scratching, at the scent,
at the smell of sex.

Seems like
I’ve met somebody new.