a whiff from your book

I sprayed her perfume on a poem

From a book I really like

That she got me at a time when I was

Trying to be her type

And the whiff of which

Bewitches me,

The letters blur the smell

When I close my eyes I hear her voice

I‘m put under a spell

Licking screens and smelling books

i‘m like a Don Quixote, digital

In search of Dulcinea, data

Writing down residuals

Of what I felt upon her touch

It happened like a dream

Now I‘ve trapped myself inside my palms

I prey upon thy beams