Olfactory Games

In the corridor on the ground
floor, the dog smelling the orange

to sniff out its intentions as if a shrunk
planet had landed in sinister disguise

on earth. Right above, on the first
floor, the door snuck out of its loose latch

letting a longitude of light ornament
your shy calves. You rose, heaped up the medley

of clothes lying on the floor like urchin stars
banished from the ceiling and launched them

into the laundry bin. And then suddenly
remembering, you fumble through the pile

to find a black vest, veil your face with it,
smelling its fabric worn by your beloved last

night. You’re hungry but your stomach is so
full you can’t eat. You wear the black vest

underneath a black shirt and go to work.
You wait till sunset to have your breakfast.