The Aromatherapist

In the half light, Rosemary disrobed
as unselfconsciously as a Burlesque Princess.
In her sing song voice,
Angela spoke of the benefits of Neroli Oil,
stroked into the glistening, lily white, back
of her favourite flower arranger.

Angela separated her petite guest
from perfume scented black lace
and continued her spiel.
‘Neroli, the oil of the orange blossom,
is named after Italian Royalty.
It infuses a calm cheerfulness
into listless, despairing hours.
It’s a current upon which to drift
into the world of dreams
and a wetter of appetites.

Her willing captive lay down
upon silk sheets.
The room was awash with sultry jazz.
Angela poured the carrier oil
on to the bedazzled beauty’s baby smooth skin.
Her soothing hands
glided over the contours of Rosie’s back.
Drops of Neroli plummeted from the bottle.

The anointed purred in contentment
long before Angie’s feathery finger strokes
reached the zenith of her thighs.

Tremors radiated from Rosie’s core,
from Angie’s voice and nothing more.
Her breathe quickened
as her host displayed the menu of finales.

She paid in roses injected with rainbows.
Once she’d thought her erotic sorceress
as unobtainable as a lone gem,
buried
somewhere atop Kilimanjaro.

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