Half in a daze, my senses are suddenly flooded by the unmistakeable scent of Terre D’Hermes, and the olfactory memory unleashes a flood of remembrance of the man I knew who wore it. His voice, his words, his desire - I recall them all fondly, and although I have forgiven him, I can’t help but wonder whether his wife has yet. I hope so.
Thursday 10 January 2008
Perfume
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7 comments:
How intriguing! Please, do tell!
You can't leave us hanging here with such an opening. . .
Are you writing erotica on the sly and holding out on us?
August
Sorry, gals, there's no narrative here. But at the Other Place, he went by the moniker 'The Admirer'.
Puss
Oh, him!
Whoops - it's funny how the sense of smell is so evocative and raises many sudden memories. when ARE they going to invent smelly vision??
Pole dancing is all very spiky and nice, Puss, but has your literary agent seen this side of you. I'd buy the book of your musings here. Perhaps it's the contrast, dunno :)
(I'm with Toby. Love it here.) You reminded me. Circa 1990. Just broke up with her. Deliberately asked the clerk for a sample of Shalimar, her only perfume. I pretended to be interested in buying some. I was sorely missing her. The clerk sprayed some on a piece of paper. It got on my coat jacket. On the long and lonely drive the next day or so, I reached up my arm and the residual fragrance jolted me. Stunned me. She was there. The absence of presence, present.
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