Behold, a venerable and dangerous bottle of perfume is riddling. Who will be the first to name her true name?
You should search for me in your dreams:
Morpheus is my father, he who pushes at the seams
of your consciousness when you are asleep
or perhaps when you’re under my red sway so deep.
Sunk in your couch, or on a Chinese bed
while visions of courtesans dance through your head,
inhale me and transport yourself to a land
where the texture of silk brocade smooth on your hand
Reassures you when you feel you’ve flown too far
on the wings of my namesake, floral bliss in a jar;
remember the poppies that made me, the resin
so sticky and black and heavy as Heaven
and know me, for I am more than iconic
the scent of the 70’s, I know its ironic,
for nobody used me all that much,
they’d all moved on to a heavier touch
but I represented a golden time long gone by
when respectable gents visited dens to get high
and lounged in a state of bespoke tedium.
You know my name, say it; it is _________!