The Scent
I touch my nose to the rose
and inhale,
taking a breath as if
not a thing on earth is more important.
Another breath, ah.
I keep on leaning in
to drink and drink the scent.
There’s never been a bloom
that’s knocked me into sense
as does this ragged rose.
I carry the vase from my kitchen
to my bedside nightstand.
The blossom begins to curl,
but the perfume pulses out.
In order to keep adoring
the aroma that wakes my soul,
in the morning it sits on my desk.
By tomorrow it’s likely
the flower scent will cease to be.
I touch my nose to the rose.
©Susa Silvermarie 2023
LOVE this!!
I can smell the rose too, Susa.