Bathroom of the Vanities
The model mask, the mannequin moue,
the face I loved to catch her pulling
after sundry perfecting dabs
and micro-adjustments in front of the mirror
will never be seen, by me or the mirror, again.
Odd bottles in an orderly queue -
Issey Miyake, Parum, Tea Rose, the eternal billing
doves of L'Air du Temps - keep their caps
on, converse their last drops of essence and aura
and wait for no one.
How poignant thinking about all our lotions, potions, scents which we will leave behind.
The memories scents evoke...