Letter to Redolence

Dear heart, I lit an aromatherapy candle 
from last Christmas, thinking to release the smell 
of late summer flowers, of roses and champagne; 
but all it did was give the room a slight top note 
of funeral parlor. I waited to see what the middle 
and base would be, then the unique chemical heart 
of the drydown. There was only a smoky signature 
reminiscent of the moment after the child blows out 
all the birthday candles. Fragrance needs a body 
to define it, after all: a chemistry against which to blend 
the oils of an accord. Sillage is what trails beyond our
passage, changing intensity from our heat, our cold;
whether we sit on benches in the sun or walk 
through drafty corridors resembling catacombs.


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