Robert inhaled from the seats,
A larger bed of one, a bottled expanse of blue,
And exhaled large rings of amber.
He was lost in the fumes through the vent hole.
The fictional nostrils
Smashed against one wall and died.
Human armpits imbedded into
Sunlight streaked diesel, and sleep,
Death’s interior, was perfumed with my feet
And a bittersweet mix of husky dwarf.
I know from sweat that tough
Where the oils from the long expanse
Dangled from the stained blacktop.
He would not regain the armrests,
Nor his sense of smell for a month.