May 17, 2012

by English Muse

“He walks the flower-edged
paths in the cool spring
dawn and each blossom
gives its own note to a
symphony of scent and yet
his thoughts are on his beloved
and the way her rare
perfumes turn the hollows of
her white wrist and perfect
throat into deep pools of
pleasure and how the richest
of all the scents she wears is
the perfume of her beauty, a
fragrance known only to the
angels of deep heaven, one
part starlight and two culled
from the shimmer of full
moons. It belongs to no other
woman who walks the earth
–the scent of tender love.”

I’m obsessed these days with Byredo’s Pulp, mixed with a touch of Santal Blanc by Serge Lutens. Is it possible to be addicted to perfume?

(Photo by a Swedish Love Affair.)

This entry was posted on Thursday, May 17th, 2012 at 7:33 pm. It is filed under Uncategorized. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed.

· · · ◊ ◊ ◊ · · ·

Comments are closed.

fin.
All content © 2014 by The English Muse