Perfume of Love

If there was a perfume of love it would be jasmine,
branches of delicate snowflake flowers,
wafting fragrance more haunting than pheremones;
but if bottled,
withers and dies like plucked petals,
becomes a skeleton of love,
a leer fit for a disco.

And if there was a vision of love
it would be sunset on the beach,
holding hands in a timeless moment,
as the world waits breathless for the stars
to arrive,
but if ignored fades
like an ancient painting exposed to air,
colours dying and faces dropping
until only a hint of beauty survives.

And if there was music of love
it would be your laughter,
ringing through parks and ruffling leaves,
the culmination of every symphony,
melting my heart,
for of course
music can never die.