I am a lover and
my fruit is plucked
Not long after my
flowers start to show.
I taste the pain after
life’s nectar’s sucked.
I hang around and
watch my buds regrow.
Embracing folly
in every sip of wine.
My laughter pops,
a crackle in the fire
Gone with the night,
a flame that slowly dies.
My burden, I am
forced and not for hire,
A slave who begs
the sunrise not to rise.
the fragrance writer 