Your Perfume

I put some make-up on,
I bought a new top.

Would you forgive me
if I used your perfume?

I put my fingers around the bottle
and caress it — it’s shiny and smooth.
I’m jealous of it,
because it still holds your scent.

You held it every time you went out,
as if to say goodbye to it.

Today, when I spray it,
I beg God to let me hear you saying,
Mum, don’t touch it — it’s a man’s one.

I wanted to say, Yes, I know that,
and I’m using it on purpose —
to share something
you always loved so much.