The Scent of Bliss

Were I an alchemist
divining your scent
I would seek out
the essence of

Old books
Decaying maple leaves
Clean damp wool
The bitter bite of stout
To make the fundament.

Rising high above:
Apple blossoms
And their fruit

crisp tart

Would introduce you

girlish and fresh.

but

The eyes of those
who dared come close
would water faintly
at the sting
of cardamom and chilies.

I imagine you would dab
the silky oil
on those tender spots
between

adding your musk

So that passersby

who caught your scented trail
might suddenly envision
the dark green loam
of an ancient wood
and fairies cavorting
before the flames.