Bluebottle

Imagine, for that short
life, being
consumed by the
smells;
and, maybe, the blurred
kaleidoscopic colours
of summer;
but always
the smells of 
asphalt, mint and 
lavender,
of neat spirals of dog faeces and vomit,
and the irresistible smell of
refuse 
left beside the road,
and the dead, and the dying -
to fuel the 
ever-being
busy-ness
of that breathtakingly beautiful
body.
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