Scents and Scentsations

I am fascinated by the smell
Permeating my epidermis
Some days I think I can smell soup,
Others I’m sure it’s death that’s a wafting.
Usually though, the scent is full of memories,
And I’m somersaulted into an ecstatic trance,
Lasting only long enough to convince me to repeat,
Eyes darting,
Always hoping no ones looking,
As I slowly inhale,
And remember nothing I can distinguish.