my room smells like incense
which is to say
I enjoy lighting cone after cone
and stick after stick
just to cause everything I own
to smell like prayer
incense smoke is formless magic
with the ability to permeate your bones
if you let it
the ashes are pixie dust on every surface
a familiar blessing from the same faeries
that like to hide the other sock until your learn
to stop trying to conform to what’s expected
to stop matching just because
someone said you should
incense burns
and the prayers are answered
in the rising smoke
incense [poem]
