He told her she stunk of desperation;
but she couldn’t smell it.
She scrubbed for hours in the shower and bath;
using soaps, and washes, and scents.
It repelled him, he said.
She supposed it was her natural aroma;
emanating from her like garlic,
or a strong curry.
Perhaps it came from age;
like over-ripened cheese or fermented wine.
Could they all smell it?
There is a simple solution she mused.
Cut away the mold.
Let the wine breathe.
Toast the spices.
And feast like Kings.