Asking a plastic flower

To describe the smell of lavender

Is like

Moving back home 

After traveling roads of my own choosing

Encountering dead ends

And closed for repairs

Realizing I have no sense of direction

Asking a plastic flower

To describe the smell of cinnamon

Is like

Finding your childhood bedroom

Untouched by time or therapy

Under-filled by a bed too short for sleep

Next to a hope chest

Filled with innocent requests

-by Thomas Typewriter