Cologne Her

You smell her skin; kernel and groundnut oil
a cluster of butterfly eludes you
your wildest imagination cuts through the fragrance

under her bed, you stole the secret
you wore it, yet it wears her on you
you look ravishing, but with her glory
now you tell the lies to antique minds
but they can recognize the origin of the cologne
it wears a grin on your face that resembles village
the cassava farm recognizes you as you walk by
it mocks the worn out pride on your face
and praises the ghost of the woman you wear

you are vexed; you sneak it back under the bed
the rumble of the sweet smells of lavender bows to you
you want this one, but you rather not wear old grin
so you leave, smelling of coconut oil instead

By Ruth Brodrick. All rights reserved ©. This poem should not be used or shared without the author’s permission.