Perfume’s Chicanery


What glides before him,
This movement of grace,
Inducing memory
Of fragrant presence?

Flowers of long ago
Waft through light leaks,
Cracks in the closure
Where mind’s nakedness
Once roamed.

Humidity,
Aroma’s constant friend,
Visited often
This heart of romantic wanderings.

Whether at a seashore’s bamboo bar,
Manhattan’s concert in the park,
Or a rainy night in Vermont,
All stood attentive to awakening’s dew point.

Today…

Amidst the clarity of drifting’s past,
His shadow café of coffee and unlit cigarettes pauses,
As neon-flashes spark the mirrors
“Open 24 hours”

Such haunts the never-sleep,
Always-ready heart and mind,
Once tirelessly gathering
Scents of old and young.

The uninviting scent of cold coffee
Offers little relief
From perfume once intoxicating,

Now lost to imprisonment

By the stale redolence of longing.