Pablo, not Picasso.
This is burnt bougainvillaea on a heavy humid evening. This is the sun, in its setting,
turning everything to blood. This is for Paulo, (not Claude, not Maya, or Paloma.)
This is for the hushed quiet, the forbidden, the forgotten.
This is the smell of smoke,
Lemon, frankincense, freesia, mimosa, Cuban tobacco leaves, coriander, vanilla absolute, tonka beans