More Leaves of Grass

Odours of love

Sally James

The smell of his perfume
of lilacs and roses
the touch of his skin
and the sweat of his pores.

I breathe in his scent
like a hound who is hunting
and sip on the droplets
that form on his face.

It hasn't a sweet taste
is odourless, colourless
it rolls round my tongue
to the back of my throat.

I have savoured secretions
from love's distillation
intoxicates always
like late summer wine.

But his marble moon eyes
beyond me are searching
as he stands at the crossroads
and waits for his call.

Like a flower that is fading
whose petals are falling
I am pinned there forever
with the thorn from his rose

Soon he will wander
on mountains and moorlands
and what I assume
he will also assume

For I have breathed in his fragrance
and know that I love him
as his perfume expires
like the smoke of my breath.

Then a reaching of arms
and a few sad embraces
the song of me rising
and meeting the sun.

Now he has gone
disappeared like a whisper
and all I have left
is the sniff of green leaves.