Winifred Wikkeling

A spritz or two of rose,

me, at the tip of my toes, my nose in pursuit,

hovering close,

brushing lightly the curve of the base,

I follow rose to the hollow,

there below the ear, savoring,

I take a deep breath in,

holding rose briefly, I release, reluctantly, but rose stays with me,

when I open my eyes,

he smiles knowingly,

how easily I succumb…