Why desire night-blooming jasmine,
yet refuse sandalwood’s calm?

Frankincense drifts outside,
myrrh’s sorrow wagered within.
Orange—innocence so pure,
Yet freshness shimmers only in light;

Musk—the scent of hormone,
Sweetness of oxytocin's pulse.
What is the lemon zest of  dark
fragrances … in burning smoke
or   secretive pheromones it craved for?