Regardless, here ya go:
Intermittent Childhood Floats on Lily-of-the-Valley Fumes
Last night, tonight, everysinglenight,
I slip in the bedroom door,
and the scent curls around me,
flicking my nose, my forebrain.
Stirrings shift and purr,
youth leaps from age 3 to 8
no memories in between,
then slides again from 8 to 14.
Black holes strain to fill with red,
and blue and green and indigo,
Rainbows just out of reach.
They exist as a tease,
full frontal remembrance
only on a need to know basis.
Trust when I say, "I don’t need to know".
~Pamela V Jones ©2011
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*hugs you forever*
~hugs you tightly~