Coloured Perfumes

Isn’t it fun to leave behind messages for someone to be discovered later, or never, sometime in the past or future or present, or to be remembered unexpectedly when the sun smells blue, the moon smells pink and the coffee smells like a newer shade of purple from tomorrow, while your hands smell like yesterday, because you never realised that they were unattended then. The air might smell like burnt sienna, because the memories are supposed to be brown, or charcoal black, or some other colour I never could have thought of, and while they read, the coffee cools to a pinkish shade, while the aroma seems orange, and the air flows like an yellow scent , rooted deeper than the golden odour of a public restroom. The silver aroma of the pollution seems far away, as they read with a half exasperated smile, a letter full of letters for later, because the only thing we can really be is late. you will see that the puns smell funny, and the air suddenly smells leaf green, as the city chews breath mints to smell a dazzling white.

You will never smell colours again…

– Goth Sunflower

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