Saccharine are the words you speak,
swirling around my dizzy, frazzled head.
Entangled in the nostrils that I breathe,
as we roll around this slept-in bed.
Clinging to my small frame like perfume,
your words they patch the holes inside;
watering these tiny blooms.
So that I might no longer hide.
poem by jaceycaitlynspeaks © 2017
daily prompt: Perfume