The Perfume Bottle
the pink heart shaped glass bottle
lets the morning light through
where it prisms on the ebony dressing table top
devoid of the faux perfume it contained
all those Christmases ago
in pride of place next to the atomizer
with its red tassel containing the perfume I favour
I suspected it was bought at the corner shop
dusted off with love and care
and wrapped with more Scotch tape than paper
protecting the unadorned surface of the glass bottle
its stopper thoughtfully encased in some plastic substance
now brittle with the passing of time
unstopping the bottle and with it
the imagined sillage lingers at memory’s edge
transporting me back
to the innocence of the formative years
the sky was the limit
the shifting prisms of victories and failures
the scent of Life
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