By The Drifter From Heaven
A sweet scent of ladies' perfume awakens a sleeping desire,
A place and a face I could no longer name still exist,
A lingering shadow that won't fade—its hold persists,
A misty room full of pain, my soul cannot resist.
My heart thuds in a thundering despair,
A sorrowful chasm deep in my core—a fissure with no repair,
In agony my heart clings like a vine in the kindling of a new love,
A new face and place—a new scent that makes my heart throb.
Apr 18
Apr 18, 2026 at 9:43 AM UTC
By The Drifter From Heaven
A sweet scent of ladies' perfume awakens a sleeping desire,
A place and a face I could no longer name still exist,
A lingering shadow that won't fade—its hold persists,
A misty room full of pain, my soul cannot resist.
My heart thuds in a thundering despair,
A sorrowful chasm deep in my core—a fissure with no repair,
In agony my heart clings like a vine in the kindling of a new love,
A new face and place—a new scent that makes my heart throb.