acqua di parma
She does not like the way it smells
on her wrist, mellow undertones
are not her fresh destination.
It reminds her of me.
Not a lightweight citrus,
this one. It tells pungent tales.
The initial impression is sharp
and new, then gives way
to the riddle of vetiver and cedar,
ancient woody cananga tree, deep
trysts only a Bulgarian rose might know.
She shakes her sandalwood head
and tosses the bottle on the bed.
Between the sheets, my tired skin
no longer diffuses the sweet
young dance of lavender.
You can keep it, Mom.
It’s a little too old for me.
And so the golden genie
romances my brittle oracle.
Tess Kincaid
Posted over on her site Life at Willow Manor
Listed as #1 in Magpie Tales 33
1 comment:
"keep it, Mom.
It’s a little too old for me".
And that, Your Honour, was my provocation to murder!
Thanks Glenn for publicising your favourites! LOL.
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