Triggered
I wonder if it hits you too. A song that turns you head to tail. A smell like oranges and clovers that makes you wet. A trigger that sends you twisting along the road with wind in your hair. And who do you see? I can turn the memories off now. Or turn them to others. New and old. Tastes of another tongue. The reach of a different hand. I can make some up too. Imagine a world of possibilities in a stolen glance. But I can’t avoid the trigger. The Sunday Morning. Till the End of Time. Bam. I wonder what of me hits?