Her PreScent
Before She Shows
Before her form graces my view,
the air is charged — I feel renewed.
Her scent arrives before she’s near,
a quiet promise, a tender thrill sincere.
Between breaths, something stirs —
an unseen shimmer,
a pulse beneath the air.
She is breath before form,
the murmur that the wind confides.
Her presence sensed — a subtle trace,
like a mirage, I see her face.
She can’t be defined by a single trait,
nor bound by charm or fate.
She laughs like she’s tasting life for the first time,
and the world exhales, unprepared.
Her scent comes before she is mine.
She lingers in thought like a line from a song,
a melody unnamed but hummed all day long.
Her beauty isn’t just in the way she looks,
but in how her presence rewrites the books.
Amber hums. Jasmine sighs.
Something inside the air tilts.
I taste her before I see her —
not sweetness, but current.
Eyes that hold storms, yet calm the sea,
a depth that invites you to truly see.
A breath of home, strength that restores,
her voice — balanced, kind — opens quiet doors.
She doesn’t demand; she simply is,
and her quiet strength leaves you breathless.
Her laughter — a flicker of dawn breaking open,
her scent — the echo that time keeps.
It clings to the air, soft and true,
a fragrant reminder she passed through.
Not perfume — but presence.
Not memory — but motion suspended.
It’s the way she moves, the life she leaves,
a mark the senses and soul retrieve.
Long after she’s gone, she still remains,
in breath, in thought — an unbroken chain.
A presence felt long before she shows,
like the scent of rain before it flows.
The air shifts softly, the world takes pause,
an unseen current, silent applause.
She doesn’t need footsteps to make her way —
her aura arrives, leading the day.
Like the glow of dawn before the sun,
you feel her warmth before it’s begun.
In quiet moments, she stirs the space,
a breathless stillness, a sacred trace.
She is the moment that time bestows —
a presence felt long before she shows.
And when she finally steps into view,
it feels like recognition,
like déjà vu in the skin —
for she was always here,
lingering in the air,
waiting to be seen.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment