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The Sweet Smell Of...
© Linnea Sinclair 


The oilman smells of oil.

Do I smell of words?

Idle notions, vague ideas occur

to mingle with events.

Plots of stories hammer down my fence

at night, to scatter

at the light of day.

All that lingers, my heroine's sweet scent.

Adventure-tinged, unpretentious.

By noon,

paragraphs unfurl their pungent plumes.

A touch of sandalwood and spearmint.

Practicality flees the room,

the stench too powerful.

A fantasy bouquet,

Essence of Over-Active Imagination


Then, when all good people lie abed,

content to seek their rest,

I'm besotted by my pen's perfume,

"Eau de Chapters". A strong incense

intoxicates my mind

as my hero's masculine scent assails me,

and I breathe my stories

into life.

[ end ]


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