Last Night's Perfume

 

Last Night's Perfume

 

The white light peeks through the blinds

catching her only,

missing the shredded gray comforter

that keeps us close,

missing me entirely,

as if solely to illuminate

her seamless back.

How beautiful an object can be

from afar. Her body rests on the bed,

in perfect symmetry,

like bars of repeated musical notes.

Strands of her delicate brown hair

dance slowly

with the rusted ceiling fan

and the intoxicating smell

of last night's perfume.

Dirty socks and faded jeans

flow over an old wicker wastebasket

to the floor, as if crawling

for an exit. 

Soft noise from the fan

provides the room's only sound.

It's the stillness of waiting

for an alarm to go off

when you've been up for hours.  We

posture.  Me, as if looking

at abstract art, not wanting

to be bothered.  Her,

just needing another ride home

from a suddenly undesirable place.

But still here she lies,

staring blankly into the west wall,

contemplating, as if

she were already gone.

Reviews

[L.I. Black]

Wow.
Great mental imaging. The words work so perfectly together to paint a picture in the reader's mind. An intriguing picture to boot. Wonderful work.

[Gheeneil]

May that be the kind of perfume that lasts. Anyway, i like the flow of the words---so smooth. It fits into this piece perfectly. Great job!