You’re the scent of moss-rose, amber, dew
a starlit sky, the daisy meadow late in June.
You’re the sense of thunder, the wind that blew
a bashful breeze of lavender ‘cross dunes
and waves that siren me to lull me moored.
You are perfume of promises and lies,
of dirty linens and my sickness cured
on land of living and for the birds who died.
Perfume of you is carnosine and beige
a concoction cooked for my seduction
a cauldron coddling essence night and day.
You’re both creation and my dark destruction.
I’m tethered to temptation, to the fragrance
of your presence, to your waltz and cadence.
Today it’s Open Link with Sanaa hosting at dVerse, join us live for the first hour of the bar. I modified this old sonnet a bit, and thought it could be something to perform.
April 15, 2021