I’d like to make a perfume,
heady, dusky incense, of Bali and bellydancing silks,
fresh-baked bread crunchy on the
outside soft as soft bread inside, and warm,
still warm.  chocolate cake
like grandma makes.
that light vanilla that seems to follow
those airy summer girls with sweet smiles
and hair full of flowers, jasmine,
or maybe rose or lavender, or frangipani-
it’s a matter of personal choice, I’d make
a few variations of course.  And sea,
the smell of salt on the wind that brings
blue to the mind, and sheer
exhilaration of the surf and sky.
Strawberries, not strawberry-flavour but real ones,
bursting with juice in your pink mouth, more summer.
The hot cocoa you made on rainy nights
in bed with your thoughts.  A book,
a new one perhaps crisp and waiting or an
old one, its scent is of unnamed impressions.
Apple juice, or blackcurrant it came with your cousins
to stay, another summer day.
The inside of guitars, wood that smells of music,
emotion beaten into the varnish, or a room
you used to sing alone in or beat the keys
when you thought no-one was listening
but hoped they were.

Dad’s leather jacket.
The air on a day so beautiful it glows.
A lover’s skin,
her hair,
what does his name smell like?

could we capture that?

March ’06


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This blog is the collection of my poetry and prose, in chronological order from most recent to oldest.

Constructive critique is actively encouraged!

I am usually singing words as well as writing them, and make lots of other art. You can find me & my other art at any of the below links. x

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All content on this blog © Rebecca Tilley, 2003-present

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