swathes of perfume—
a familiar scent in the storm
bewildered by wonders
and shadows on the dictaphone
renegade tears; again
they surround charlatan hearts
in sounds of scissor envy
the wineglass is fermented sour…
time vanishes into aether.
the threadbare tale of old lovers
bloom on daybreak scorch
akin to an elaborate kaleidoscope
incinerating infinite galaxies.
your anarchy is no longer ghastly
and the oasis of the cityscape
blinks out in a mosaic, one by one
as i quell my febrile miasma
and twist sullen on my empty bed
your form outline is long gone—
but your lingering fragrance remains.