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Rated: E · Other · Biographical · #2018720
For my mother.


Bought her perfume today.
For some Freudian cause.
it's banging my shins
In it's square, heavy box.

It rests on my shelf
Novice nun, manifest.
Mine fade; peeling labels Cite cheap alchemists.
It's deep amber honey
The colour of Whiskey
Shames pitiful flowers
And makes their pinks sickly.

I spray cautious, wary.
One drop, like a kiss.
It smells... well, of her. To the core. To the bone
In the car, final touches to see her own kin
Her cast silver pendant On strong, sun kissed skin

The chemical fades, and she's there, in the room
Bold, sensual, unbending
Leaves senses consumed

She smiles in my mirror
My wrist, darkens, tans
That stain's my inaptness;
The end of my plans.

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