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