A Small Silk Sachet
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The Eiffel tower stands gaunt,
like a tall iron finger
whose shadow petitions God
for the right to scratch heaven.
My girl loves me to woo her
with polished charm and finesse,
and yet, tonight, it's my turn
to cash in on payments due.
A diamond cuts the glass
as I break into her rooms,
and her perfumed decadence
near makes me gag from the fumes.
Rifling her jewelry box
I find a small silk sachet,
whiffs of potpourri wafting
into the air at my touch.
I decide to pocket it,
and a smile crosses my lips,
a small, scented memento,
to remind me of this night.
(Blank Verse)
1/28/2016
Copyright © Emile Pinet | Year Posted 2016
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