A Canine Eloquence
Old Spice’ and wet grass carry years
of understanding between us.
If I break wind, you run to me,
body rapt and heeding,
every hair translating
a smudged paragraph into
volumes of memory.
Rubbernecking my attention
with a fixed gaze,
you are staring at my next question,
willing to
jaw with more whiffs of intimacy.
A jargon of us both
surfacing in her millpond eyes.
Silent odiferous idioms crest
upon her black nose,
a cloddish lingo,
but it outruns anything that could be said.
Copyright © Eric Ashford | Year Posted 2022
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