All
Dogs
That
scent—
I’m like a bloodhound.
Nose
to the floor
and I’ll find it every time.
I’m
relentless,
I know,
But
there’s something
to be said about persistence.
I
find sometimes I lose myself—
I blame the change of season
A certain smell
The way the wind brushes my face
and lifts my hair.
Excuses? Realities?
I don’t know.
Something,
though, for sure
is certain:
Women,
somehow, serve as
Both the solution
And the problem
Always.
And
here we’re left
to chase our tails
in this vicious circle.
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