Vanilla Planifolia
Little yellow bottle,
Yield to me your fumes,
Speak of my triumphs,
My failures,
My joy,
My sorrow.
Speak of the man
I once hoped to woo;
Speak of sleepless nights
Spent buried under a million quilts,
My face shoved into
A pillow spritzed
With the soft scent of your perfume.
Speak of me,
Of my wrists and my chest,
Of my hair and my thighs.
Speak of every goddamned thing
I did to hide myself
When vanilla just made me
Into a scented whore.
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