Walking through a sea of purple,
Like shot silk, yet alive,
And the warm sun
Enhancing the perfume.
As I brush each stem,
The intoxication of scent,
Warm, full, rounded,
Spicy, even.
And a luscious torpor ensues,
Invading the nose,
Bewitching the brain,
Infecting me.
Memory of intimate touches flood back.
My mother placing small sachets under my pillow.
Incense sticks perfuming a party room.
Reflexology, massage, therapy.
All this from a lavender field.
Lavender Fields
08 Thursday May 2014
Posted poetry
in
Ah. This evokes good memories for me too: Sachets made by mom in drawers, my gran’s garden, and a trip to France. Lovely.
I’m glad you have find memories of it too!
Mahvelous! Simply “mahvelous”
Thank you Roy
Gorgeous!
Thank you Surae! You can almost smell that field can’t you?!
I totally can smell that field. And if feels great. Thank you!
You are welcome