The bottles stand abandoned
Their black lacquer surface
Painted with a ghost veil of daily dust
Churned to the air from the nocturnal
Pacing, the somnambulist's dance.
What use now for perfume
That of oakmoss and claret; that which
I once brushed through my hair
But a part of a ritual as I prepared
Myself for you, knowing the great
Power of memory and smell.
When we made love, the fire-auburn
Strands of it flew; a private halo of fire
Marking our passion, tossing their
Incense to the world, as a thurible
travels its high arc, breathing
trails of frankincense,
That bless the air with holiness.
How vivid the memory:
The long and fragrant waves
That fell about your face as I
Leaned to your kisses, my summer
Lips parting, accepting your
Communion. Two supplicants
Seeking faith, we fucked for absolution.
In the church across the park, I heard
My bell toll, the sound of it rolling
Across the river I knew so well
And a holy man kneeled,
Whispering prayers for my soul.