It smells like my uncle.
It smells like my mom.
It smells like her sauce
’cause her sauce is the bomb.

It smells like my cousins.
It smells like my dad
when he ate all the leftovers
and made me feel sad.

It smells like my brother,
except for his feet.
He can make some mean meatballs
and it smells like the meat.

It smells like the garden
when I’m cutting the grass.
If I eat too much,
it even smells like my–

Naw, but I can wish.

It smells like my grandpa
when he crushes a leaf.
It smells like his mouth
when it’s stuck in his teeth.

It smells like my grandma,
whom I sure miss the most.
It smells like her apron–
even smells like her ghost.

It smells like my memories
from times long ago;
it smells like my childhood,
where I wish I could go.

It smells like the only
smell I want nasal.
It’s my favorite smell
and that smell is basil.

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