The bottles stand abandoned

Their black lacquer surface

Painted with a ghost veil of daily dust

Churned to the air from the nocturnal

Pacing, the somnambulist's dance.

What use now for perfume

That of oakmoss and claret; that which

I once brushed through my hair

But a part of a ritual as I prepared

Myself for you, knowing the great

Power of memory and smell.

When we made love, the fire-auburn

Strands of it flew; a private halo of fire

Marking our passion, tossing their

Incense to the world, as a thurible

travels its high arc, breathing

trails of frankincense,

That bless the air with holiness.

How vivid the memory:

The long and fragrant waves

That fell about your face as I

Leaned to your kisses, my summer

Lips parting, accepting your

Communion. Two supplicants

Seeking faith, we fucked for absolution.

In the church across the park, I heard

My bell toll, the sound of it rolling

Across the river I knew so well

And a holy man kneeled,

Whispering prayers for my soul.