You left the bottle
Of cologne
For me standing lone
An orange shape
And a glistening knob like top
Upon which so many images stop...
Images of my face...hands...
My body...the ceiling...the shelf...
Every kind of moving and immobile things land
Without any pretense over it...
And the deep orange liquid
Carry layers...sublayers aromatic...
The top layer is strong...
Musky husky long...
The mid level is so royal...
As if passed by a banquet hall
With people in black ties
Or dinner jackets tight
And fashionable ladies in gowns and corsets...
And a flowing river by the Somerset...
And...
The last layer...
The faintest of the three...
Is that of...not sure...perhaps of a bodhi tree...
A salvation kind...
An ethereal mystery...
A cloud like white tapestry...
The cologne bottle...
That you left...
For me in a deep orange shape...
Has so many incorporated...
Signatures of men...
Horses...polo clubs...
Cigars...
And also of the last stage...
The salvation...
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