The Name of the Scent

A waft of sweetness drifts through the air,

my friend’s kitchen bustling, warmth in the steam.

It pulls at something deep, a flicker, a glare,

a shadow of laughter, a half-forgotten dream.

What is this perfume of afternoons spent,

a hug from the past in a bowl set to rise?

I reach for the taste, the joy that it lent,

yet struggle to catch it, like smoke through the skies.

Muffled sounds rise like ghosts from the ground,

a crackle of stories wrapped tight in a tin,

yet the name of this scent, still lost, never found,

leaves me with echoes where childhood has been.

I breathe in nostalgia, its flavor a tease,

a forgotten embrace that just lingers and stays.