perfumed vengeance

the bottle, blue crystal
dainty roses etched
sits on a bamboo tray
with my silver hairbrush
the only fragrance I wear

the bottle, a gift a decade ago
is poisoned
your precious gift
you now refuse its presence
claiming a sour distaste
for airy springtime evocation
floral bouquet and a touch
of vanilla

the bottle
the essence of sweet sixteen
a proud moment in my life
the first ball at school
maybe a first date
hopefully a first kiss
my first gentle touch
of womanhood

the bottle is my joy
which you have given
and reclaimed
I cannot share its strength --
your gift for my independence --
while your bitterness
claims a sour distaste
for the freedom it has brought to me

the bottle and I dream
of the day I meet you
casually, in the street --
a perfect chance to enhance
my perfumed vengeance --
will you open your eyes
to the wonderful woman
I have become
wearing my individual scent?
I fear, alas! you will remain bland
so I have a nasty hope
that, blinded by the spirit of the blue bottle,
you will leave a nasty welt
where you bite your tongue
uselessly reminding me
of your dislike of my freedom
to wear your gift,
indeed to have matured far beyond
my days of sweet sixteen
blossoming into a charming twenty-six




         perfumed vengeance
         28 may, 2006
         (for Corinne Géru)