Perfume Landscapes

I was walking home
Past a winter flowering shrub
When the vista opened
Of perfume landscapes.

Then I wandered along
Streets of fragrance,
Exploring the bread shop
And made hungry as the
Restaurant fanned its
Aroma around me.

Living beyond even my body
I moved outside form
Into the soul of flowers,
Of pink and white fragrances
Balming my being,

And each one
Opened yet further
Hills and dales
Woods and thickets,
Towns and stations
Of remembered odors.

They moved me through time
To the searing smell of singeing
Horses hooves,
Of burnt toast
And scorched fingers.

Then back further to
Hospital wards,
Disinfectants,
Sick old men and women
And the smell of death.

Oh yes,
And joyous tang
Of bruised elder leaves
As I had climbed to birds nests.

So much – almost
To travel time and space
Into my different lives
As I live again
The incense of privet
Around my first home.
The cut grass
Or dug soil
Of those years.

Even harvest time,
The wheat,
And the exciting whiff
Of gunpowder
From farmers guns
Or boyhood fireworks.

And the smell of
Your rich body
Filling me.

Copyright ©2004 Tony Crisp