Eau De You
“Smells heavenly.” You recite my name like a spell. “A resemblance of the eighth angel’s golden censer when we pray.”
Hands prey upon veins, slithering between my wrists, curling around so they don’t slip.
“Yet I am no God,” two drops of cedarwood diffused throughout the room, “acting deific ’cause He loathes His humanhood.”
Floating in the air, four drops of lavender kiss your lips when they slander God; ah the secret self nobody gets to save.
“I, dearie,” you lean on a table full of bottles and tubes to one of which the essence of wild orange drips twice, “bask in the human urge no matter how eerie.”
Something else drips, another thing drizzles, and everything splashes in vials; my bone marrow shivers.
“If it’s fair for love to eternally crave for someone,” one drop of ylang-ylang kicks in and slumber drives its fang in, “fair it is to immortalize you in a crystal bottle.”
Dreams swirl into screams, bare skin bleeds, and life leaks. Intense sweat, blood claret red, and translucent tears are poured, flowing, to be distilled.
“Hold still, my love.” Heat and cold, highs and lows. Several sighs and pipettes later, I disembark in my final crystal casket.
Your beguiling eyes gleam with tears, your placid smile beams in bliss.
“Eau de you.”
(Inspired by VIXX - Scentist.)
