The D Spot

I sigh in my jasmine-vanilla scented bubbles,
glass of wine in my hand half full,
the longest tendrils of my hair floating on top of the water.
Candlelight flickers jasmine scent
Jasmine, the scent of love and
vanilla, the scent of passion.
I dry and put on my best nightgown
a spray of scent behind
each kneecap and one
between my breasts.
I comb my hair dry.
Blowing out the candle, I enter the bedroom.
The darkness beckons and I see your shape in the bed.
I lay by your side in my freshness and
vulnerability.
But all is wasted
as evidenced by your regular breathing
and gentle snore.
I sigh in frustration,
useless waste of scent and time.
A useless build up to nothing.
I pen these words by candlelight
while you softly sleep.