Silk Dust

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After her shower

she writes a poem

in the condensation on the mirror,

then watches it evaporate.

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It was all about the fragrance –

the coconut

in her shampoo,

the rose water on her face.

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She remembers what he liked –

Emeraude and Chantilly Lace

while he wore English Leather

which drove her over the edge.

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They’d dance past the chaperones

and steal away to his car,

Lou Christie on the radio

and lightning striking twice

.

and later in her room alone,

his scent still in her hair

the poems would magically write themselves

in the silk dust on the mirror.

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©  2020  Betty Hayes Albright 

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