It’s hard to describe the blindness
when you’re trapped with an idea
that has been years in the making.
My voiceless need sits inside my head.
Yesterday started out as an accident,
a chance encounter really.
Imagine being instantly transported
to a tiny French village where everything
requires an uphill climb.
Romance is the desired condition
hundreds of years ago
the smell of perfume was new.
The memory in scent is a trigger
as a massive reaction from a few drops.
The bathtub sits wedged in a room
perfect for two,
water tinted from an ancient source,
just one tiny candle
nothing but our voices
reading and planning our days.
The journey is our marker
we lay quietly
in those tiny beds
bodies are constantly touching.
We stay up late kissing the moon,
letting hungry mouths feed.
Each new day holds a surprise
exploring this ancient world
come tomorrow at the parfumerie
I promise to take your hand
and whisper a promise
there in the source
where memories are made.