a scent that crowds out thought and sound
as i walk into that nervous sanctum–
the Logan airport lavatory–
my suitcase wheels galloping across the tiles
like the hooves of some absurdly tiny horse

in volumes large enough, i guess
this dubious perfume might be as cheap
as secrets shouted in the sweat-hot din
of rooms, or halls, or yards
filled to the brim
with talk, or tunes, or both
but always beer and smoke and tang of teenage breath
upon whose gusts rides that gentle venom
that same smell, that naked sugar kiss
of peach schnapps.

her words are gone now.
all that survives is a humid memory
who leans her slender weight upon the windows of my mind.
i splash my face with water
before my journey home.