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.