Scent Of Flesh
I'm aghast from sleep by day
When the smell of the body you sneak
and spread it in my room.
The wind stops and the air in that room
not changed.
The smell a strange body make me reminds of you
to another body fragrance
who has passed many years ago
But lurking in the corner of memories
and flourished when I exposed
weather travel, passing through the hills,
stir in the room cramped boarding houses,
chatting at a coffee shop opened
in the evening, holding your
hanging before it ends
in the washing machine.
We lay in bed
full of poetry books
who reads randomly
only to find
the most appropriate sentence
to express my feelings.
That feeling has long been a parasite
often pressuring me with questions,
"Who are you?"
Before the mirror I said
with trepidation and doubts,
"Who am I?"
And then the question was losing a question mark
and be the rain that made me
soaking wet while everyone
in the welter of about me;
in a long dry season temperatures.
Now my chest no longer pounding
dealing with each piece of flesh
awkward and so bored