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Being the Smells my Librarian Gave to Me

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Where is the smell,
That the librarian gave to us.
What out of our memories fell.
She wouldn’t tell us what they were, even with fuss fuss fuss.

It takes me back,
does the black.
Takes me back to the annualality of whatever-it-is.
The one before the forbidden fizz.
With the things you don’t know about,
About to come out.

The orange brings me back to the three months a year,
Back to the place where everywhere is near.
The world was at a slow roast,
Where everyone seemed to boast.
There was weird tastes,
And a bit odder fates.

The onions and the lemons are ongoing.
The things that are current as well as foregoing.
Well, with the others you can’t be certain,
Watch now, here is the close of the curtain.



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