Fragrance Stories

Flaming angels of spring weave a pastoral tapestryO’er the sleepless, meadowed minds,Entreating the burning softness of summer;Freedom, resurrected in its breath,When warmly winds lick the searching facesInhaled ‘neath the rapture of its tongue. Passion seasons fruit for its victims,Nestled in pain of unrewarding sympathy;Passion is pain when my aching visions ripenTo capture a beckoning of soft-winged flight,In a galaxy,...

I squeeze rose petals And pour the juice onYour shaven mound,And watch the dropsTrickle down between yourPetals, which are rosier Than the flower I crushed. I smell the open lips And taste them.Ah! How well the rose juice and your own have blended. Ignorant people say I Am a fool to worship flesh.Tell me if it is wrong to worshipThe Unknown?For, has any human languageDescribed the smell or tasteof a woman's skin?

Entrancing beauty! Champagne strands in the breeze, Flying, flitting, flirting. Such complicated, exciting delicacy! Your seductive fragrance bewitches With glorious intoxication! Your dance entices. Open your petals to me!