Twilight hour. Frozen heat.
Each single second- eloquent:
Flowing rolling as rivers would
Flow into the sea- steady and languid.
Crimson sunset would lie down by the moonlight.
White heaven's milk pouring over a single rose on the
window
Near the leisuring sea with its sheepish
Waves of the future tickling sleepy sand grains.

She would sit there,
In her little Parfumerie,
Delirium would caress her mind each wave.
Cinnamon and vanilla, sweet scents,
Angels touch, tickle, test the
Orange opaque and yellow potions;
Aphrodisiacs for heavenly creatures.

Leanient eyes betrayed her,
As she looked beyond the vermilion curtain,
Half transparent like stained Jesuit glass.
She would sit there, that Dame
of the other side of the street.
Sit and wait for the long,
Humid and ever-expanding bells-
To ring on her one day