The Fifth and Most Fleeting

Which sense can we delight in most,
The one most oft forgotten?
Whose beauty travels through the air;
Reminders of begotten.

Like a rose, she lingers.
Fragrance speaks her story fair.
The fullness of my mind and heart;
The whole aroma of her hair.
Like a bouquet bestowed upon me,
Melodic circles in the air,
I must breathe again, though I just did,
The whole aroma of her hair.

What simple way exists,
to put these thoughts stuck in my mind?
Though so strong an instant prior,
I cannot replay it or rewind.
Oddly, though she’s present
when the scent of her is there,
I cannot retain the feeling,
The whole aroma of her hair.

As with a kitchen switch turned on,
As with a mower in the spring,
As with a flash of lightning,
As with a murdered king,
First there isn’t anything,
Then suddenly it’s there.
Empty. Cold. Then, instantly,
The whole aroma of her hair.


(Image Credit)

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