The sunlit scent of the flowers
disappears with us
as we close the curtains and the blinds
to be alone with them.
Their ever-yellow glow persists;
it is what you always bring me.
They echo in the yellow of lemons.
My memory mostly non-olfactory,
I close my eyes to see them,
sepals persuasively curling
with Flemish detail.
Their lack of scent brings no regret.
We have other senses to attend to.
They cast their lemon light over us,
their saffron scent
lending the zest of earth.
First three Chapters....
15 years ago
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