Your street, your kitchen, your pocket: three smells

Bonfire smoke from the allotments, toast, and a conker, which smells of nothing at all and lives in my pocket anyway. Shout if you get stuck.

Wet tarmac outside the terminal, kawakawa tea, and a ferry ticket. Its paper and diesel, trust me.

Leaf mould in the gutters, dubbin on the table, and a bit of waxed welt thread I should of thrown out years ago.

Bakery at six, the coffee on my break, and chain grease from my bike gloves.

Rain, rice, receipts. Wet cedar on my Seattle street, rice cooker steam, and thermal paper from a coffee receipt.

It's spring in Melbourne, so star jasmine over every fence on my street, lemon myrtle in the kitchen, and gum leaves I forgot I'd pocketed.

Studio notes: cedar shavings, burnt toast, and a lump of clay in my apron that smells more of rain then earth. Anyone else?

Roast chestnuts from the stall outside the station, cocoa, and a crayon from my classroom.

Aye, peat smoke down the close, porridge, and a wee sprig of heather I'll loose by Friday.

Loving these, especially the receipt and the conker. Keep them coming.

street is hot garbage, kitchen is toasted cumin, pocket is a marker. you're all way too poetic for me