Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Han Lynn

WHEN I PERFUME MYSELF

When I perfume myself, my twenty feet ambit exudes musk.
Wrapped in the fragrance, I walk about in crowded places.
My attar surely turns heads in front of me. It also turns heads
behind me. Myself? I just keep strolling, walking on in sweet–
ness, pleased, but embarrassed.

WHEN I PERFUME MYSELF

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WHEN I PERFUME MYSELF

When I perfume myself, my twenty feet ambit exudes musk.
Wrapped in the fragrance, I walk about in crowded places.
My attar surely turns heads in front of me. It also turns heads
behind me. Myself? I just keep strolling, walking on in sweet–
ness, pleased, but embarrassed.

WHEN I PERFUME MYSELF

When I perfume myself, my twenty feet ambit exudes musk.
Wrapped in the fragrance, I walk about in crowded places.
My attar surely turns heads in front of me. It also turns heads
behind me. Myself? I just keep strolling, walking on in sweet–
ness, pleased, but embarrassed.
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