smoke signals
I smell smoke
Drifting through the front garden
Wafting, most likely, from the kitchen
You say your nose is blocked, but assure me all is well.
You are baking me a treat, you say.
For a moment, I smell the sugar, the cinnamon and vanilla.
But there is only smoke, more and more.
A black fog.
Now everything is gone
Burned to ashes.
By your refusal, by my negligence, as always.