by Isolde ÓBrolcháin Carmody02 Apr 2019
Sometimes I wish for photographs of smells
A way to capture sensuous moments;
A sunny June in London
Where a genius had planted roses
Enough to mask a choking city breath
Transporting perceptions to a Turkish dream.
The first hyacinths of the year
That may not come 'til April
A scent I used to assume was soap
When inhaled from the smooth skin of a girl who broke my heart.
I have not yet found a perfume, nor even an oil,
Which does justice to fresh lilies;
Their audacious sex filling a house to bursting.
Or subtle honeysuckle secrets
The kind you glimpse
From the corner of your nose
Walking by Kerry hedgerows.
I live my life
Bathed in jasmine and roses.