Hour Eight

Freshly baked bread, a warm towel from the dyer, stew bubbling in a pot, brewed coffee, the sweet aroma of a flower shop, a candy store.
A schnozz in heaven.

Cut grass, cracked pepper, dust bunnies and pollen, second hand smoke, cigarette or otherwise, perfume baths,
tickles and bothers tiny hairs, a sneezers disdain.

Bacon and onions frying, roast beef and Yorkshire pudding in a hot oven, burgers and franks on the BBQ, spaghetti sauce and chilli, simmering in pots.
Mouth watering flavours, hunger pains in the belly, overloaded senses.

Dirty diapers, overflowing toilets and sinks, tarring of rooftops, rotten eggs and gasoline.
Putrid smells of the unthinkable and nasty.

A sensitive spot suffering agony and pleasure, pinched, itchy, pierced, and sometimes bloody and broken.

What the eye sees the nose knows moments before whether by scent, smell, odour, fragrance, perfume, incense, waft, funk, stench, vapor, and sweat.
The nose knows it all.