Was that a smile upon her lips,
that stranger I just passed—
who transfixed me with the rhythm of her hips—
does she look back?
Likely not, but what she leaves behind
is her scent—for me—alone—to find.
Thus I pass into her world,
where trace of rose and jasmine swirl
and just for this sweet moment I possess her,
as surely as we lay, legs entwined—
til on the breeze her fragrance dissipates—
and I can no more hold her in my mind
than detain her in my arms.
At last I turn—too late—she is gone—
with all her aromatic charms.
Alan Abrams worked in motorcycle shops, construction sites, and architecture studios. He has lived in the heart of big cities, and in the boonies on unpaved roads. His poems and stories have been published in numerous literary journals. His poem “Aleinu,” published by Bourgeon, is nominated for the 2023 Pushcart Prize.
