Wednesday, March 2, 2011

The Perfumer's Sketch

The hours liked to witness these.
And so did he.
She smoothened the crease on her cape.
He settled with his graphite.
She sipped her steaming chocolate.
Days elapsed, infusing in past.
She doesn't see those eyes on her.
He makes sure, she doesn't.
She works for Chanel.
He once worked with her.

A newsprint behind a thick white sheet.
In the cafe, he looked like a regular,
lost in politics.
For him it was an equivalent,
pretended.

She opened a thin notepad.
Heavily inked, in cursive,
black.
He noticed her pearls,
as her left hand wrote.

He wanted it to last,
forever.
Like the permanence of
an unpromised future.
What a perfect, unforeseen
gift.
As propitious as a bottle of scent.

Two days later, he felt
content.
He looked towards the window table.
The same white pearls,
the same uniform underneath
the auburn cape.
He looked again at the vignette, pictured.
And titled the sketch,
' The Perfumer '.
with a footnote,
' happy anniversary '.





image source

5 comments:

Captain Obvious said...

Amazing! I could spend hours reading these poems. *thumbs up*

lines n shades said...

thank you.

nice to have you here.be around :)

all ways 11 o'clock said...

this is a beautiful love

love from a distance
ahhhhh, the beauty and the loneliness

~robert

Noxalio said...

beautiful ... you are indeed a romantic ... & i'm glad to have made this connection.

noxy.

lines n shades said...

@Noxalio - awww.... really? that is really touching :)