Hebenon

			
What was the perfumed scent that lingered in the court under Hamlet’s feet, around Laertes’s saber?
The scent precedes the poison’s passion.
Sweet hebenon,
though your vial is hidden from the light
Your scent precedes you translucent vessel,
Promise wafting into and through an open room
Court or parlor, it does not matter,
Tendril, thick and purple, curls about hither
And thither taunts and tempts
And does all this without relent
But passing like a dancer on swift feet
Lightly, so lightly, she leaps, and only leaps,
For walking would be a burden all too much
For such a miss as this
Sweet hebenon,
Your maiden name, if it can be guessed,
Was swallowed in a great draught
Of ink more volatile and full of passion
Than the fit of rage you so inspire,
On lip or eye or other.