A scent of you

For National Poetry Day, with apologies to Joni Mitchell:


I met her in Fitzrovia
fragrance in the air
“I nose this town,” I said
and followed her vapour trails
To Chanel No 5 and Chelsea
she’s a Peter Jones girl
To Bow and barley
and the stout pint we drank.


By Pudding Lane
the burning tinge was cinnamon
the foundations of her gin palace lemon.
Strawberries in Southwark soon followed
and to Oval and its square-cut grass
the sharp-cut mint in which she washed me.


A sniff on the wind
and I’m falling
“You smell like you now,”
she said, smiling.