Chophouse Olfaction

Touch at a distance.

I am blind and cannot see.

The searing, the transformation
of the raw: the pink
evaporates into
black and blue.

I am deaf and cannot hear.

The sizzle, the tickle, the pop.
that jitterbug dance
that we find in relief
letting go of the edge.

I am numb and cannot feel.

My fingers fall
to the base of the thumb
kneeling to the eminence
when judgement comes.

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