She returned late one night
dropping purse and coat onto kitchen chair
"You smell of incense dear," said I
I was shopping for candles, said she

A week later, in town
she introduced me to a new shop
Incense and potpourri and candles
many of the customers knew her by name

It's owned by that man, said someone I knew
gesturing to a dark haired shadow in the back
I turned to ask his name,
but my love had left the shop.

"What sort of man makes scented things his living?" I asked,
walking quickly to catch up to her.
She slowed her pace, but had no answer as her fingers fumbled with her coat's buttons,
her eyes darting away from my glance

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