Mother of Pearl

I  can still smell
the vanilla that she wore.
to her temple and salt sellers
a delicate natural layer
that, would infuse with biscuits
and fresh baked iced cup cakes
in her pantry..  creamy and honeyed . its  home baking  that we knew as a child.. drifting into your senses as demerara glaze.. into every crevice and fold, the skin of rice pudding.. 
a homely warm cuddlesome sticky. smell of a mother which is unforgettable delicious and universal..
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