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IN A FLURRY OF FRAGRANCES
The scent drums. (Sage, cocoa, incense.)
Flaconic colors unmistakably pointing to the realm of flames. Lit by fire. No, you can't fight such olfactory explosions either, that heavy and cloying breath fogging you in! In the dugout: pull your chin tighter to your chest! Offer less nose target!
Scent drums. (Cocoa, incense, amber.)
Hoping for duds, but the olfactory notes are (with almost demonic ease) the purest dumdums! Full cover!? Alone one surprises his patch more than once at the spout of the 'thunderstorm canister'. Lifeless, too often been mere snooping soldier. No medal of valour, no officer's rank.
Scent drums. (Cocoa, incense, amber.)
Yes, stay away from us with the pineapples! Strike all nasal senses to break the monotony of being a scent funnel! Away with the scent-blasting helmets, complete with neiport armor!
Scent drums. (Cocoa, amber, incense, tonka bean.)
The collision with a second camouflaged nose, preferably a female one, must now be so scent-drumming short and pitiless. In lofty anticipation of the fuse laid nose kiss ...
Scent drums. (Cocoa, amber, incense, tonka bean.)
Another murderous scent trail comes flying after US. Is it for her? Is it for me? Is it for you and me? Commands like "GET OUT!" are unknown to us. Maintain the olfactory link! The descending branch of the olfactory pathway ends just above No Man's Nose Land.
Scent drums. (Cocoa, amber, incense, tonka bean.)
An accelerant perfume in the midst of such peril is dynamite, heck, medicine! By so expertly jumbling their curves and progressions, the fragrance notes create a balance that makes the event seem worthwhile. An olfactory game, which is certainly not under a million torn off uniform buttons to have!?
Scent drums. (Cocoa, amber, incense, tonka bean, vanilla.)
As she, Recruit XY, races through the combat zone with claw-like hands outstretched, spraying a shower of scent like machine-gun salvos onto the ground, "Huiiiii!", one barely manages to wrestle the joy-giver from her. Good girl (... yes, on the other hand, too), ifschon she still wants to resist even at this moment.
The scent drums. (Cocoa, amber, incense, tonka bean, vanilla.)
Feeling that in 'peacetime' it can merely disturb (nothing new in the West, basically), the scent creeps nimbly away: gradually drumming out after so many hours.
Army report: the fever strength of our 100-ml bullet is equal to the live marshmallow of two, four, seven, twenty-one infantry divisions! "Your Generalities: report obediently, A DRUM FIRE OF A DUKE!!!" Brewed and forged to set men in motion toward each other, and from fire(-spray) blast to fire(-spray) blast, to hurl a fresh pair of hearts into the Dantean surf. Or more prosaically: as if relentlessly seized by a nostril-sneaking mysterious will and driven with sniper precision and all the possibilities of being hit to the focal points of human togetherness. Grated in the sporty final battle of adulated (and ambered and cocoaed and ...) bodies!
Flaconic colors unmistakably pointing to the realm of flames. Lit by fire. No, you can't fight such olfactory explosions either, that heavy and cloying breath fogging you in! In the dugout: pull your chin tighter to your chest! Offer less nose target!
Scent drums. (Cocoa, incense, amber.)
Hoping for duds, but the olfactory notes are (with almost demonic ease) the purest dumdums! Full cover!? Alone one surprises his patch more than once at the spout of the 'thunderstorm canister'. Lifeless, too often been mere snooping soldier. No medal of valour, no officer's rank.
Scent drums. (Cocoa, incense, amber.)
Yes, stay away from us with the pineapples! Strike all nasal senses to break the monotony of being a scent funnel! Away with the scent-blasting helmets, complete with neiport armor!
Scent drums. (Cocoa, amber, incense, tonka bean.)
The collision with a second camouflaged nose, preferably a female one, must now be so scent-drumming short and pitiless. In lofty anticipation of the fuse laid nose kiss ...
Scent drums. (Cocoa, amber, incense, tonka bean.)
Another murderous scent trail comes flying after US. Is it for her? Is it for me? Is it for you and me? Commands like "GET OUT!" are unknown to us. Maintain the olfactory link! The descending branch of the olfactory pathway ends just above No Man's Nose Land.
Scent drums. (Cocoa, amber, incense, tonka bean.)
An accelerant perfume in the midst of such peril is dynamite, heck, medicine! By so expertly jumbling their curves and progressions, the fragrance notes create a balance that makes the event seem worthwhile. An olfactory game, which is certainly not under a million torn off uniform buttons to have!?
Scent drums. (Cocoa, amber, incense, tonka bean, vanilla.)
As she, Recruit XY, races through the combat zone with claw-like hands outstretched, spraying a shower of scent like machine-gun salvos onto the ground, "Huiiiii!", one barely manages to wrestle the joy-giver from her. Good girl (... yes, on the other hand, too), ifschon she still wants to resist even at this moment.
The scent drums. (Cocoa, amber, incense, tonka bean, vanilla.)
Feeling that in 'peacetime' it can merely disturb (nothing new in the West, basically), the scent creeps nimbly away: gradually drumming out after so many hours.
Army report: the fever strength of our 100-ml bullet is equal to the live marshmallow of two, four, seven, twenty-one infantry divisions! "Your Generalities: report obediently, A DRUM FIRE OF A DUKE!!!" Brewed and forged to set men in motion toward each other, and from fire(-spray) blast to fire(-spray) blast, to hurl a fresh pair of hearts into the Dantean surf. Or more prosaically: as if relentlessly seized by a nostril-sneaking mysterious will and driven with sniper precision and all the possibilities of being hit to the focal points of human togetherness. Grated in the sporty final battle of adulated (and ambered and cocoaed and ...) bodies!
5 Comments
While the Dantean surf is closer to me than the militaristic drumfires, I do enjoy reading such pictorially original commentary toou.
Chapeau!