Candide Diderot Poet Free verse

Scent

My fingers were running away 
with the excitement of it all
you could just taste the thrill 
of the catch in the air
as they tripped one by one

into the wolf’s lair 

He’d been following the scent 
of my dark dark red roses
and the distant sight of the
glow of a gauche nakedness 
running in the glow of the moon 

the whispering wind
beckoning 
wanton trysts
sensually lifting 
strands

of my ebony hair 
like birdsong they flew 
each a chord in the 
Je veux être avec toi 
heartbeat, waving him on 

further in 
further on 

sentient 
sent
he was sent
scent he was
the perfume of fire 

and of heat

further in 
further on

the undoing,
my fingers 
played on 
they 
played on

they
played on





Candide Diderot. ‘24

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