Burnt paper, smoldering and crumbling on a plate
you lift it, rub it in your hands
the odeur is sent out into the air
you sense more than just some burnt letters
the fragrance of stolen moments, a secret love erupts
suddenly you feel transported back in time, into youth
Yes, this was her perfume, burnt but still alive
and this musky fragrance was her love signal
that you knew, made you blush, but not anymore
the wages of time is the killing of blushes
however, some memories may survive old age
Originally Posted On Site: 2009-09-17 11:06:07
Last Login: 05.24.12
Visits as of 12-12-07: 82
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