Stephanotis

Pouring an essence of stephanotis
Into his bath till the paneled, carpeted room
Breathed like a paradise fit for sweltering houris,
He lapsed through scent and steam

To another bathroom, shires and years away —
A makeshift one tacked onto
The end of a cottage, it smelt of rusting pipes.
Damp plaster. In that lean-to

One night she sprinkled the stephanotis
He’d given her — a few drops of delicate living
Tasted by two still young enough to need
No luxury but their loving.

They are long parted, and their essence gone.
Yet even now he can smell,
Infused with the paradise scent, that breath of rusty
Water and sweating wall.