I have never liked the taste of saffron,
It sits acrid on my palette;
Chemical collusion swilled round my tongue, my mouth awash with atomic ink.
But the scent
In a candle
A tropic dream.
Heady-sweet, as in natural spice
The warm bite and licorice swell of cinnamon,
Like a bath in opulent oils, Damask petals and incense;
Into a blazing mirage I melt,
Vermillion crocus threads the shade of
scorched terra firma.