Laura Semro  
overshare / obscure


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the smell of soil gets me through the morning. like ground coffee, fresh, i’d like the brew it. wake nathan up to the scent of wet earth, electric to both of us. / i could eat it. drink it. / almost taste it anyway, tempted by the jar of ink of my stained table. when i draw, i keep the bottle open, fill the lid, like an air freshener, like perfume i wish i could wear. / nathan smells like trees when he cares to wear cologne. i thrive with his roots, with the rain. we both do. steeped in forest, wistful. / shoes tapping on wet concrete, delicious, the automatic doors creak open, like wheat ripped from soil, i am torn awake. / never mind. / never mind. (2024)