I took a bath
in my mother’s perfume
I soaked my skin
in her oiled quintessence
The bottle read
Jasmine, Ethanol, Osmanthus,
but my skin – scented of
swift kisses from
Mother’s mouth to
wet cheek sang –
steeped in the calligraphy
of her breath
the soft song of air
whistling through bedtime night
as she shared with me
my favorite fairy tale
about a girl
soaked in Mother’s
Perfume
Pick-pocket change and a trail of dust –– licked clean; huffed deep; a rolled-up tenner in hand –– She tells you she had to put the dog...
So delicate, the mountains stand, like paper-mache experiments sculpted by a shaking hand, no, perhaps a thoughtful hand, one set with...
They stand tall in the thousands. Momentous in their tear-shape patchworks. Each attached to the tree limb by one thin strand, one so...
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