7/6/2021
The scent of petrichor intoxicating in the atmosphere,
the ichor of gravel is what the ancients called it.
Electrifying aroma of freshly rained upon land
awaking something primal as it enters the nostrils,
olfactory memories of times I have not even lived,
perhaps a recollection of the times when our forebearers
resided on unworked earth, lacking the comforts of today
-genetic souvenirs we have been left with.
A terrene perfume evoking so many emotions within me
as it hangs in the crisp air on this summer night,
and as rain resumes again after a momentary pause
my exhilaration pursues because the more it rains
the more my addiction to this fragrance will be satisfied.
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𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐀𝐠𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐕𝐢𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐞𝐬ᵖᵒᵉᵗʳʸ
Poetry𝐯𝐢𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐨 (n.) 𝘢𝘳𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘪𝘤 𝘢 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘨, 𝘣𝘳𝘢𝘷𝘦, 𝘰𝘳 𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘮𝘢𝘯; 𝘢𝘮𝘢𝘻𝘰𝘯 Poems posted daily, for every day of the year. Works of an undefined theme with a touch of fantastical elements as well as a healthy dose of r...
