Top Notes 
Bergamot
Lemon
Pink pepper
Heart Notes 
Calone
Grass
Rose oxide
Melonal
Nettle
Galbanum
Passion fruit
Base Notes 
Frankincense
Musk
Cashmeran
Styrax05/05/2025
Gyokuro2021
6 Reviews
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Gyokuro2021
Helpful Review
3
A foreign coast blazes between heart and head
The morning melts away in a haze of exhaust fumes and the rusty roar of concrete. I spray on Atlântico and suddenly traffic lights dance like fireflies, the asphalt sloshes beneath me like a sleeping ocean.
A flash of citrus strikes, shimmering and intangible; pink pepper flares up and immediately burns out again.
Calone runs like liquid metal. Melonal draws waves in the air that never repeat themselves. Grass, nettle, passion fruit; fleeting voices, just heard, already gone.
Something sounds in the background, like a worn-out loop of pet sounds. I can hear through the city: Galbanum flickers on; a rose appears, built of light crystals, dancing for a beat over gray blocks.
Then: incense. No scent, a vibration. Ambroxan pushes its way out, echoing over everything. Musk shimmers like a net of mist. Styrax and cashmeran tick like a beat that creeps under the skin.
I am standing in the roar of concrete and traffic, but a wave has long been beating inside me. A foreign shore blazes between my heart and my head. Atlântico is not a scent. It is a disturbance in the system: fleeting, electrified, like a lost piece of music that you never quite forget.
A flash of citrus strikes, shimmering and intangible; pink pepper flares up and immediately burns out again.
Calone runs like liquid metal. Melonal draws waves in the air that never repeat themselves. Grass, nettle, passion fruit; fleeting voices, just heard, already gone.
Something sounds in the background, like a worn-out loop of pet sounds. I can hear through the city: Galbanum flickers on; a rose appears, built of light crystals, dancing for a beat over gray blocks.
Then: incense. No scent, a vibration. Ambroxan pushes its way out, echoing over everything. Musk shimmers like a net of mist. Styrax and cashmeran tick like a beat that creeps under the skin.
I am standing in the roar of concrete and traffic, but a wave has long been beating inside me. A foreign shore blazes between my heart and my head. Atlântico is not a scent. It is a disturbance in the system: fleeting, electrified, like a lost piece of music that you never quite forget.
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