Arabian Dreams

There’s a woman at my work,
Who smells like Arabian Dreams,
The perfume I made,
Aged six and three quarters.

A friend’s perfume making kit.
Unwanted,
Donated,
Provided my instructions and I followed,
Carefully,
But the result was less than palatable,
And distinctly stale.

I was advised to dispose of my first creation,
And my Arabian Dreams went down the sink,
With the rest of the kit.
And I thought to assuage my disappointment at losing a morning’s  work,
Becoming a scientist,
Mixing up and disposing of dangerous chemicals,
(Down the sink)
I remember the stench,
The rainbow swirls,
Of the stale perfume mixes,
As they drowned.

There’s  a woman at my work,
Who smells like Arabian Dreams,
I wonder if she knows,
She’s a science experiment waiting to happen.