Phantosmia

My mother lives in a rabbit hole inside my head.
She summons up the words I want to hear.

My father lives in a rabbit hole
forcing on me days I want to forget.
I can't escape the warren of recall.

Small boat, big seas, I must live now in this small
safe world yearning small quotidians.

Gershwin smelt burning rubber in his hour of need.
I smell a neglected Bellini but still I lust for latex
oozing from a wounded tree bark.

The comfort of the baby's teat, the swing of the giving set
feeding me life's blood, milk the tubes...clot ye not...
Seal me in and I will suck the silicone.