parchment

there is no greater pleasure
than the smell of fresh paper
from a printer
or the crisp musty waft
of old books unopened- now free

eyes like ours
too blind are no use
the entanglement of memories and olfactory
granddad had old wrinkly parchment hands
moved them slowly
he smelled like mothballs
and hospital dressing gowns at the end
i was all sweat, unquenched by perfumes
fanciful stories he made up
about snuggles the cat
i wish i had written them down on
some clean sheet of paper

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