scents

He was quite wrong, old Homer. It is not
The lotus that makes men content to stay,
But it's the spell of scent: the heady, hot
Sharp smell of tar; late spring's fresh, new-mown hay;

And jasmine seeming stronger in the dusk;
A cigarette's first puff; grass that is wet,
With soft, slow rains; patchouli, cloves and musk,
Full-bodied perfume with a hint of sweat:

Or, better still, a woman's clean, long hair,
Blown wide upon a sunny summer's day
And underneath a hint of shoulder, bare
And brown, on which small lights and shadows play:

She keeps you bound by life's sweet smell, and then
You'll never want to venture forth again.