Memories

Our senses are the proud cousins of rodents I mean look how they drill tunnels bore grooves into psychic gardens and now every time I smell jasmin all I think about is you

Memories are currents; I swim without knowing which way they go out to sea. Suddenly, I am child again, clutching my mother's hand while trampoline memories bounce around us. Sometimes they dive through the water surface like fish that stroke the surface of the light. When I try to pull them back into memory, they sprout wing like seeds cast by an unknown wind.