Mrs Jean-Baptiste Grenouille


“I promise not to tell your perfumed secrets
There are countless formulations for pressing flowers.”

Nirvana - ‘Scentless Apprentice’



His love caught me off guard.
I’m dressed in black; veiled.

Mother’s sewn bustier, each stitch
caressing gentle curves, ribbon
drawing in the inches,
lace ornamenting my *******.

Perfume weighing heavy in
the air, clinging to my
porcelain skin.

I watched him.

He strolled towards me
maintaining a dignified silence.
He closed his eyes, & took a breath
as if his life depended on my scent.

Was this who I thought it to be;
the Devil himself?

Had father invited him,
to Laure’s funeral?

I knew little of him then.
I knew he stalked the naked human –
killing young girls, barely fourteen,
making perfume from hair & clothes.

I knew he was abandoned
by his mother – leaving him
in piles of fish.
He was born scentless - I senseless.

I knew Laure wasn’t the first,
& certainly would not be
the last.

I sit tonight, & I remember certain
nights. How he’d leave the house
meeting a new lover, & return home
speaking of his conquests.

I would smile.

“You are my muse!” he would whisper.
“I no longer want to be, the Scentless Apprentice,
I want to be Grenouille the Great!”

Each morning he would speak to me.
I would wake soon after; dawn breaking.

He & I,
we compose a morning sky.

© Sia Jane