Don't Laugh

Some writing:

I smelled the sea when I awoke. The breezes must have brought it in over the mountains, bypassing the endless groves of blossoming fruits trees and fields of wildflowers so as not to mix with those earthy tones. It smelled of brine and life, of struggle and survival. And of the sun.

And then a change. Now, the scent that came to me was of the trees. Again, not those fruit tree blossoms with their sweet cologne perfuming the grasses that cling to their rooty bases. This was the raw smell of the flesh of trees, of branches and bark bent to a point beyond recovery and of leaves crushed beneath the weight of their owners. It smelled of age and wisdom, of insight and stern disspointment and of abandonment, loneliness and understanding.

The sweetness of life.
The smell of a storm.
Like water to rock.
My edges are worn.

Her glance carries me.
To a long ago place.
Her hand on my shoulder.
Her eyes on my face.

Take me tomorrow.
Show me today.
I'll give you whenever.
Please promise you'll stay.