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 match her stride
She slowed her pace, but had no answer
But her nervous fingers fumbled with small coat buttons
while her eyes darted away from my glance

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