-Potpourri-
She led me
into this old potpourri factory.
'My mother used to work here,'
she expressed.
Lavender scent and rose petals.
Beds of jasmine flowers,
and cypress shavings,
She stroked.
She held out a piece of clove
and crushed it on my hands.
I sniffed
and sneezed.
Her laughter
after.
'All these belong there now,'
she pointed.
The adjacent chamber
of wastes, and discards.
Flower petals discoloured.
Their scent expired.
'Finally we're here!'
The place where
the next fresh flower
becomes the next victim.

For you.

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