My nose is not with me <br />even as I felt for it <br />on my face, it is not there <br />yet I see the gore putrefying <br />under the noonday sun, <br />all around the busy square <br />without the putrescence <br />it seemed somewhat appealing. <br /> <br />In the place where I stroll <br />at the cobbled city hub, <br />by the banks of a viscous river <br />unsightly with scraggly lilies, <br />among urban fecal flotsam <br />yet without the redolence <br />my mind anticipated <br />it looked lovely. <br /> <br />It had an insistent charm, <br />that I was seeing, feeling <br />but not smelling, <br />life couldn't be so bad <br />without having to smell <br />the sordid realities at the <br />edges of our existence.<br /><br />Eddie Roa<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/don-t-smell-the-roses/
