The Kitty Smells Like Smarties

Pinky’s head smells sweet.
Like fresh washed laundry
or a pack of Smarties.
I’m not exactly sure why.
There’s nothing in my house
that would smell like this.
The chemo-induced diabetes has control of me.

I haven’t done laundry in two months.
It smells rancid around here in fact.
Litterboxes overflowing,
rotting vegetables,

sheets covered in the hormonal
scent of a vanishing man.

I think somehow,
as a reflection of her tender soul,
Pinky just smells sweet.
I keep smelling her head.
I want to kiss her over and over,
to somehow change my life,
to be jettisoned from the planet,
to clean up this filthy house,
to exorcise this disease,
to be loved by a woman again,
to correct the mistakes,
the incorrectness she labeled me with,
to alter time and moment,

to create a new manner of existence.

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