Of Fragrance Sweet

			
Unwise, is that same as ignorance?
Hardly could that be so.
The room begins to drift and tilt
 
To steal a glance is to make you real
To make you real is to forsake the thought
That showed itself in hopeful throes
Of ecstasy soft and low: say not that wretched word
Fantasy it is not, and escapism is pedantry
Your thoughts and words, your fragrance, presence
Push and exclude as a fortress made of clouds