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.