ROMANCE Poem: Sixth Scent, by Shawn Belanger

The air is dull, stagnant and stale, infertile and barren…like an empty page,
Filled with grey, black and white, added to a drab, simple shade of beige,
Silent and still, without dazzle or sparkle, shimmer or shine,
Absent of pastry or cream, pizza or coffee or juniper or pine.

The feeling is sullen and scared, lost without found…somewhat sad,
Built over time, lasting forever as if molecularly clad,
The absence of fragrance, like a game without a score, deeper than an empty soul,
It’s not a matter of wealth, luxury or poor, it draws all within like some far away black hole.

As if caught on a breeze, a waft in the air…something aloft, something, just more,
You are instantly awash in it’s draw, gasping for more, you needly implore,
The scent catches you in awe with its sudden approach,
Drawing ever nearer it begins to enthrall one and all with a relentless encroach.

What is it, this unique fragrance that before was never anywhere near,
Maybe it made olfactory entry as an invasive, and welcome, thought so, so clear,
Its as if, its encroach was not as a sense, not a taste nor a smell,
Could it be a potion or spell that suddenly under, you befell.

As the scent becomes strong, and eyes turn to gaze,
You see around her, a special kind of glow, yet far from being a cloud or some haze,
The reason becomes known and quite abundantly clear,
She is authentic and pure, always completely, instinctively sincere.

She carries herself with power, inside and around, setting her free, satisfyingly free,
The scent you smell could never have come from any blossom, spice, fruit or tree,
Intuitive yes, incomparable too, she is indeed the reason for this redolent aroma,
It’s far from man’s creation, manufacture nor an essence from any fauna or flora.

Once she’s near, the origin is clear, its completely, intrinsically her,
Beautiful never had a better expression through declaration, siren, or stir,
The fragrance is more, so very much more,
Made of elegance, allure, with attitude and strength, upon wings that allow her to soar.

It’s her…yes, her…all that she is, all that she was, all she will forever be,
Never duplicated, always regenerative, all that you feel and all that you see,
Completely congenital, adoptive and consanguineous, natural and innate,
It came at a price…the great price of sadness and joy, of loss and love, only she could translate.

Feel her, see her…touch her, a total of every sense, take her in,
It’s extra…above…icing on top, as well as deep from within,
Beyond all feelings, all senses, including a magical sixth, a complete and total ensoul,
In truth, despite old theory, the sum of all parts is far greater than the whole.