Zucci

Zucci is the smell of the imminent storm before it hits the maple wood on a summer day.

Both the scorching sun and the chilling rain that rattles the desolated desert.

She is the low vibration that betides in your throat from the sound of 2 AM conversations.

The fragrance of sweet Osmanthus when you find yourself awake at dawn.
She is the sight of Amaryllis sitting on your windowsill.

The sublime taste in your mouth as you relish a newly-found café.

She is the untouched poetry book that can be found on the very bottom shelf in an old library you used to visit.

The dampening of the hem of your shirt from a stranger's umbrella on a rainy weekday.

She is all there is and all that will ever be.

She is a paradox, valiant yet forbearing.

She is both the rebuttal and the reaffirmation. It is safe to say that she exists because the Gods deemed it necessary to bestow to mankind.

In times of madness and mayhem, you will be found.

"Zucci is everywhere"