Meditations on the scent of perfume in my room

I wrote this a while ago, weeks ago. A poem simply forgotten and then found whilst I was looking for something else, but upon seeing it again, I thought to write it up now, (now that it is so very irrelevant in any case) just to pass the time, or else, because I am indebted to you- whomever you are.
   It can be seen as innocent, or bawdy, as you like simply by the play on words; my own intentions were very much to provide an imagery of both sex and prayer.

Lingering in my room
is the scent
of my lover, who betwixt
sheets had spent
her time with me
as we joyed
and we grieved, sharing
alms, and legs
and received
from each other with
heads bowed and bent
at the arm and the knee.