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.