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I remember the smell of him alive
sweat and cologne
hair and a day’s work
in other words, the opposite of death.
I remember the smell of death
that overtook him
sour and aggressive — singular
devouring him inside-out.
Both scents linger
memories enforce them, time fades them
years accumulate
as do fragrances
but the dead are still dead — shadows
the living are measured against them.
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