I steal scents from strangers,
skins skirting a sense of someone else
like flowers sent to the wrong address

and thoughts lean towards intense,

fragrances on the less familiar
that feel more personal
than these perfumed impostors
pilfering my past, more a fancy to my form
than a complete composition of theirs,

I can tell a dahlia from a daisy.

I slip through these scents
on these skins of strangers
through moments on metros moving
and slide suddenly
into arms once wrapped in
and sheets once strangled by,
the prick of every rose
that can one day rot,

(one must remember to change
the water in the vase!)

all memories of muscle and muddles
that have since slipped from this lined skin,
like veins vying on leaves that have caught
themselves onto the branches of other trees.

Stale tales on the scents of new strangers.

All words and photographs by Damien B. Donnelly

6 thoughts on “STEALING SCENTS

  1. nigel64

    Damien, I read your poems and marvel at how you keep the words tightly woven, but still separate, still discrete, despite many stories together on the page. Thanks for your writing.

    1. deuxiemepeau

      Thank you so much Nigel, it’s such a lovey feeling to know that you are being read and appreciated. Thank you so much for your time and comments. Best wishes, Damien

  2. merrildsmith

    Love the idea of stealing scents–like a ghost–and the intermingling lines/thoughts about flowers and the passing of time. Well done, Damien!

    1. deuxiemepeau

      Thank you Merril. A little innocent stealing is always okay. Sorry about the delayed reply. Was in Ireland for mums birthday so just back now. Hope you had a lovely weekend. It was a weekend of more scented flowers and passing of time, along with a few drinks and late night garden sing songs!!!

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