My nose tells me that it’s thick
Like the fat of a cow
More distinct than incense
And more addictive than a hit
This is her signature style
To move pass me
And let the wind
Whip it into my nostril
Part of me wonders
If this speck of hers
Will burst inside me
And stay clogged within
Causing me to need it to breathe
Part of me wonders
If my winded utensil will reject
What plants have to offer for it
Something tells me she is not
Fused with it when the Rooster speaks
Or when the knocking creatures
Swarm through the streets under the moon
At first, my nose brushed it off
But as it worked its seduction more often,
My nose couldn’t keep up the fight
It’s around talking about her when she’s absent
Is my nose going nuts?
Or is its grip so tight that oxygen
Will not be a substitute during withdrawal?

This poem was written/submitted by Terio Ruiz.