Author: thefragrancewriter

I’m found again
lost in antiquity.
Attachments made
and broke by ill intention?
That of old
now modern iniquity.
For reasons
much “too complicated”
to mention.

The hot sun sits
unsated on our skin,
My desert rose,
just one or two steps more.
In land of sand and sea,
there’s loving.
There’s living
in the name
of myrth and myrrh.

Somewhere in the birches
we would wander;
A [sometimes] day of
letting go with me.
Nature simply
has no lack of wonder;
A losing of
the forests for the trees.

Nothing warms my home when days are cold;
On rainy nights
my soul, no one to hold.
Not Pumpkin spice,
Not autumn leaves of gold;
Only her perfume,
which sweetly lingers still
on my clothes.