Smells (draft two)

a smell has just reminded me of

childhood retching,

fresh, near sterile water and

the foulness of my breath,

of a heaving,

a pouring,

of my insides out.

A need to annotate on the margin of morning,

quivers, pattern disturbed.

Still dubious that what is inside

will stay there,

or that it should,

only trusting that poetry

can make anything sound pretty.