One rose was full of perfume that She fainted in her own arms
as if perfume had undone the airs of her form
She plucked the song from a twig of her perfumed memory
as if it was her sixteenth birthday stirring two decades
She hesitated with the thought inducing coffee
as if it was her two decades gone on cloud nine
She blew a whistle to dig out the unconscious mind
as if a thousand clouds like herself were hidden beneath the thought
She gave up the final chase of a pretty job
as if her hidden thoughts have found the little Buddha
She didn’t give up the Buddha then
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