The smell of the dressing table

The smell of the dressing table

Essential oils, mysterious

Spices from the Orient

Gold, Francensence and Myrrh

A hint of Channel

Paris and romance.

I drift onto the left bank

To wander through Impressionism

The colour of her eyes

Reflecting the sea

A translucent April sun

A Greek Goddess rising.

The taste of defeat

Sours the memory

Until a picture of her

In a floral dress

Laughing at the camera

Draws me back

Into the room

A jewellery box

Full of treasures

The look on her face

When she unwrapped a gift

Priceless

Such joy

Childlike wonder

Everything I have ever touched

Is abstracted

My features

As crooked as a Picasso

Contorted as Matisse

The size of the turbine hall

At the Tate Modern

Caught me by surprise

Big enough to make an exhibition

Of itself.

There is still a drawer

I will never open

I fear that when I do

The mystery

Will disappear.