A Candle before Breakfast

I was waiting for breakfast when I sniffed a sandalwood-scented candle that I planned to sell later that day.

And since my brain is apparently incapable of experiencing a normal morning, breakfast suddenly included fallen angels, feathers, blood, ash, burnt trees, and eternal devotion.

Someone pass me a mug of coffee, please.

This piece came from that tiny moment, and immediately turned it into memory. That’s one of the things I love about perfumes and fragrances in general. It just surprised you with a scene. It arrives, opens a door somewhere in your chest, and suddenly, you are somewhere else entirely.

For Sandalwood, that “somewhere else” became a tree, a winged figure, a fall, and a love that changed shape but never really left.

It’s part of my current gothic prose poetry collection-in-progress, House of the Gods or Domus Numeni, as I began to call it recently. It's a strange little house of devotion, altars, gods, lovers, prayers, and questionable fragrance notes.

Anyway. Here is an excerpt of the poem that happened because I smelled a candle before breakfast:

SANDALWOOD

i asked for your love,

i didn't expect,

didn't think,

didn't know

you would choose

to fall for me.

the scent reaches me,

& i look around,

i find you changed,

and i cry, i cry,

i cry,

yet i still welcome you in my arms,

the fragrance of our tree

like velvet cream,

& holy incense,

wraps us for all eternity.