the fragrance writer

It’s 3 AM. Awake
I shake in bed
With wines of yesterday
now spoiling
And songs inside my ears
now growing stale
Like bread offered to idols
passed away
Who will make us prosper?
Another night
when will light shine our way
I search my heart
why has it gotten ail
And soothe my soul
its constant toiling
With certain sureties
in my head.

I’ve heard it said
All dogs go to heav’n.
But what about us men
with hearts of dogs?

From dust we came to
dust we will return.
Comparisons to carrots,
I’d prefer.

(Don’t worry
This is meaningless.
Like everything else.) 

We’re sliced, we’re diced,
we’re sacrificed like food. 
As guilty men reside
as “chefs de cuisine.”  

It’s meaningless, 
but really quite simple:
Today’s “Chef de Cuisine’s,”
Tomorrow’s “Plate de Principal.” 

Onto your arms, I’ll burn my name Where all others can see
Onto your heart, I’ll do the same
Love’s hidden third degree
I’ll use this fire, red and hot,
Which flames when our eyes meet
But dare you try – deny our plot –
I’ll drown you in conceit.
No love’s not fair, nor do I care
You’ll taste its real fury.
And naught for all that gold you bear
I’ll toss it to the sea. 
So do you fear? I hope you do
to tie yourself with me
Our love’s so sweet, but soon you’ll see
Love’s curse is jealousy. 

I’m overshadowed
pain dark as the night
which penetrates my soul
at loss of light I’m growing weaker
and my spirit groans

Awakening, I’ve cast
them all away
Turn Your face to me
once again In the names of Love
and Glory I will hope to see
your light of day.

Before the marrow drains
inside my bones Alone I sit,
I’m drowning
in my tears I lay in bed,
succumbing to my fears

I’m always hugging when
I should be pushing away.
I always start to bloom
and then the weeds
start tugging me. 
I dance when I am sad,
Spinning and
spinning in circles,
And shed a tear
when I am glad. 
But when I feel content
I want to fight
you all the more.
The yang just
keeps on knocking
but the yin wants to
shut the door.