Perfumes/ Visions

You were engulfed in

scent then.

Easily, you gouged my

senses, enfeebled me.

My eyelids, sunk low,

inhaled a purple vision.

It was as though

I could gather up

so many billowing

folds of fleshy aroma,

even flagellate it

with wicked tongues.

And you, empress of

labiryntine perfumes,

it was enough to be

free of you,

a debauched survivor

out of the depths

I had plumbed.

But now, what scent? Where?

Have I absorbed it,

from a thousand nostrils,

that opened on the

pores of my skin?

No, it’s here, a

transfigured appetite.

In cool, desultory caverns

of aged lust,

I prowl, a succubus,

eyes, hands, lips,

inhaling your bewitched offerings:

fresh visions, that

waft between your thighs,

like the smoke rings of

some hookah,

made of the darkest metal.

Ricky Barrow, Copyright 2013.

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