Our Noses

This time, we'll reimagine our disdain:
I'll turn my nose up at the western wind
(When will it blow, now that my blood has thinned?)
And you'll look down your nose at the small rain
(The absence of good sex made you insane).
We won't invoke a god's name: Odin grinned
At our discomfort, as if we had sinned,
And Vishnu the Preserver mocked our pain.

Up, down, our noses move in strange directions,
Around the area, down in the dell
And on along the river. I can tell
You'll join me in my sourest predilections,
Based on sniffing out these loose connections.
It isn't love, it's something that we smell.