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Perfume


Is that her perfume hanging in the air?
Just a little trace. Is it really there?
Or  trapped in my mind, inside my head,
Along with odours of a warm ruined bed.

Passion would hit us as she walked through the door
So that often we made  love there on the hall floor;
I'm know I saw my lust mirrored in her face
As we both cantered on in a dead heat race.
Then, only then, each body bared and kissed
Not a single piece or part ever being missed.
I can hear the sighs. I can hear the moans.
I knew her body even better than my own.
Each body being explored at our leisure
My partner of love my partner of pleasure.
Even to this very day she still sets me on fire,
But fills me now with a more controlled desire.
And the gift of memory is so kind.
She are ever young there int he mind.
The passing years have brought more sense;
A different kind love but just as intense.

Is that her perfume hanging in the air?
Just a little trace. Is it really there?
Or  trapped in my mind, inside my head
Along with odours of a warm ruined bed.












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