Sitting by the fire, you stretch,
And breathe. The air is stiff,
Perfumed with insensitivity.
But to whom does this mysterious perfume belong?
For I am quite certain that it is not mine.
Your eyes stare,
My cheeks flush.
Our mouths show shameful smiles.
Slowly we lay on the ground,
Where the cooler air resides.
There is no overbearing perfume here,
Only the fire, the night,
And time.